


Werewolves and Faeries and Girls, Oh My!

by gallantrejoinder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, Faerie!Brienne, Werewolf!Sansa, Werewolf!Starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-23 19:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is hard when you're 6 foot 11, look like a wrestler, and the beauty of your eyes hypnotises at a glance. Then again, being half-faerie in a world where magic is meant to be a myth was never going to be easy for Brienne.</p><p>Of course, you could be an out of control, raging werewolf every month - but then, so's Sansa's whole family. She'll figure it out. She will. She's nineteen, there's still time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which a faerie offers advice on university courses and a werewolf is rather put out.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a modern AU where magic and the supernatural are unknown to humans. Brienne is half ethereal faerie but doesn't look it, Sansa is full blown raging werewolf, and they both hate it. One day they meet, and find that maybe their powers aren't so bad after all.

She’s hypnotised the barista again.

Eyes glazed over, the young boy’s arms fall limp at his side as he stares, slack-jawed, into Brienne’s eyes. The money for her cappuccino lies abandoned on the counter.

“Hello?” She asks tentatively. “Erm, can you hear me?” 

He continues to stare.

Brienne shifts a little, uncomfortable. The eyes of the boy – Tommen, according to his name tag – follow her. Feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, Brienne tries snapping her fingers under his nose, but to no avail. The empty adoration in his eyes is slowly filling her with panic – true, the morning rush is over, so there won’t be a line of customers behind her to see this next part. But a customer could walk in at any moment, and how do you explain – well – 

Gritting her teeth, Brienne raises her left hand to the unfortunate Tommen’s head and presses her palm to his cheek, while holding her right to his sluggishly beating heart. Leaning in close to his face, almost nose to nose, she concentrates her gaze on his, letting knowledge of his life flow into her mind. She doesn’t like this part – it never fails to feel like a massive invasion of privacy, but when they’re that far gone, she doesn’t have a choice. She needs their name and story. 

Keeping her gaze direct and clear, she begins to speak.

“Tommen Baratheon, I release you. Henceforth you are protected from the other world. The veil shall never again part before you while I live.” Pausing, she notes the many and varied images of kittens that the boy seems to have stored in his brain. “Also,” she adds, “Consider a veterinary course when you leave school.”

Blinking slowly, Tommen finally breaks his gaze with her. Barely suppressing a sigh of relief, Brienne quickly removes her hands and pushes the coins on the counter towards him.

“Three pounds fifty, was it?” She asks cheerily, desperately willing her blush to go away.

Shaking his head slightly, and looking more than a little lost, Tommen nods. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Lost in the clouds for a second there. Mum says I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

Brienne laughs uncomfortably. She’d seen enough of Cersei Lannister in Tommen’s head to know that little joke hadn’t been so loving – Tommen’s mother seemed to vacillate between loving and dismissive at whim.

Brienne feels more thankful for her father every day.

After all, it isn’t every man who reacts to finding out his ex is a faerie a good three years after their child is born with good humour. But that was exactly what he had done – for all his philandering with women, he let Brienne’s mother teach her all she needed to know about her magic and was always there for Brienne when it overwhelmed her.

Stepping out into the sunlit morning and leaving a still bemused Tommen Baratheon behind her, Brienne can’t help but reflect on what a failure she’s been.

The truth is, Brienne makes an awful half-faerie. She does everything imaginable to avoid hypnotising people, and rarely uses her glamour for anything but invisibility. She despises having to look into people’s hearts to break the spells she unwittingly casts on them – even if it’s led her to give some good advice, over the years. She’s painfully shy and doesn’t take nearly enough interest in her magic according to her mother. Worst of all, though, she looks just like her father.

If she was entirely human, this wouldn’t really be too bad. But being half faerie, it is entirely unacceptable for her to be as ugly as she is. Tall, heavily freckled, almost inhumanly (ha!) strong, with a crooked nose _just_ on the side of too large for her face, Brienne looks nothing like an ethereal faerie creature. She looks like the heavyweight boxer and gym trainer she is. Her father’s traits, again.

On the other hand . . . Her looks do make it easier to avoid accidental hypnotism. The one thing apart from her glamour and love of fairytales Brienne had inherited from her mother was her eyes. Deep blue, like bright sapphires, they’ve gotten her in trouble far too often for her liking. But if the only time anyone falls under her spell is when she catches their eye, Brienne is happy to have only them for beauty.

Still, though. Sometimes she thinks there’s no worse creature to be than a faerie.

~

Sansa despises being a werewolf.

She especially dreads the day preceding the full moon, full of anxiety and fear for the coming transformation. The days surrounding it when she has classes are the worst – the accompanying exhaustion and trepidation leave her unwilling to do anything but curl up in a blanket and marathon Disney films for hours at a time.

Arya, of course, is quite the opposite.

“Rise and shine big sis! Time to get your canines out!” Arya bursts into Sansa’s room with the kind of bright energy Sansa wishes she’d display at any other time of the month.

“I’ve been up for an hour, Arya,” she replies, flipping through the pages of her _Introduction to Creating Characters_ notes. Mid-semester exams are looming.

“Damn it.” Arya frowns. “I swear I’ll get you one day. Just you wait.”

“Like I’ve been waiting the past eighteen years?” Sansa raises an eyebrow at her little sister.

“Oh, shut up. Just because you’re such a prissy little miss perfect you have to get up at the arse-crack of dawn every day –”

“Arya!”

“And, you can’t even stand swearing. I’m telling you, Gendry thinks I make up half the shit I tell him about you. He says no one could ever actually be that prissy.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Sansa mutters. “I’m trying to study.”

Arya flops down on the bed beside her, forcing her ordered piles of notes to slip off the edge.

“No, you’re not,” she says confidently. “It’s the full moon! The big turnover! Transformation Tuesday!”

“I’m well aware, thank you,” Sansa sighs, giving up on her notes altogether. She doesn’t like admitting Arya’s right, but she really hasn’t been able to concentrate today. The room is too stuffy with the woods mere metres outside her window, calling out to her, stronger every minute.

Arya rolls onto her belly and puts her chin in her hands, her expression softening. From this angle she still looks like the little girl who’d always begged Sansa to go running in the woods, throwing tantrums when Sansa got angry with her nagging. They’re still polar opposites in every regard, but they’ve learned to compromise over the years.

“Come on, Sansa,” Arya says. “Just a quick run. You know it’ll help. Rickon’s going wild stuck in here all day, and mum won’t let him go without us.”

“Without _you_ ,” Sansa replies sulkily.

Arya groans and rolls onto her back again. “Pleeeeeease, Sansa? You know what he’s like. I’ll be worn out before he’s even gotten started.”

Sansa knows it’s true. Their little brother has the energy of a dozen wolves on a good day, always needing his siblings to play with to keep him from getting too near King’s Landing of a full moon. She sighs, and Arya’s face lights up, knowing she’s won.

“ _All right._ But only as long as you promise you’ll lock up extra tight tonight. I got out the last couple of times and I don’t want it happening again.” _I can’t risk hurting anyone._ It had been terrifying enough the first time she awoke, naked and alone, miles from home. She didn’t want a repeat.

“You are the greatest big sister ever and I’m still sorry for putting gum in your hair when we were kids,” says Ayra solemnly. It’s a long running joke – Sansa had made such a big fuss out of that incident of their youth that Arya continues to apologise for it to this day – sometimes facetiously, sometimes truthfully.

“Just be careful,” Sansa says, worry creasing her brow even as she’s hopping off the bed in search of her shoes.

She’s never liked Arya’s cavalier attitude to transforming. But then, Arya’s wolf form does what she’s told. Sansa’s had trouble with hers running off since day one.

And she’s the only one in the family like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Some minor edits, 29/08/2015.


	2. In which a werewolf wants belly rubs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne encounters a puppy called Sansa.

Despite her misgivings about her faerie heritage, Brienne can’t deny the comfort that comes from being in the wood. Surrounded by living things, the creaking trees and scurrying animals breathing life into the cool air – there’s nothing like it. 

On this quiet night, she will have the moon to light her way back to civilisation, so she decides to stay later than usual. Trekking into the shade of the ancient trees, she wants a place where no human or faerie will bother her. The woods are just wild enough to host only the most intrepid hikers and just close enough to King’s Landing to drive fae creatures away.

As for the animals which call it their home, it is easy for Brienne to tame the tiny creatures that would run from any other figure as large as her – when she sings, they flock to her, sitting tame and hypnotised, gentle as lambs under her spell. But the power of her voice is only a glamour, a shameful thing that binds the will of unconsenting creatures. 

Brienne doesn’t sing often. 

The night is cooling slowly, but Brienne can’t bring herself to leave the woods. She’s only on the outskirts, sitting at the foot of a willow on the bank of the river, a tiny offshoot of the Trident that runs by the town. The willow almost seems to sigh against her back every time the wind blows, and if she were to make an effort, she would probably be able to feel its spirit whispering to her. But the air is fresh and biting, reminding her that winter will be upon her soon, and she has no time to commune with ancient spirits tonight. Still, she allows herself these minutes of peace, waiting for the moon to rise to its zenith and illuminate her path back.

It’s just as she’s begrudgingly admitting to herself that perhaps an extra layer of clothing had been in order after all that she hears a snap behind her. Night has fallen around her, and despite her size and faerie glamour, her heart begins to race.

Rising lowly to her feet and reaching for the iron knife she keeps in the side pocket of her bag, she wills her heart to slow and strains her ears for any noise. The knife’s handle is covered by a leather pocket so as not to harm her, but the blade will burn any fae who try her.

“Hello? Is there anyone there?” She calls into the darkness, but silence answers her. 

_Where are the other animals?_ Owls and all manner of nocturnal creatures are usually shrieking and wailing every other minute at this time of night, but the woods are preternaturally still. Not even the wind which had chilled her earlier disturbs the leaves.

It can only mean one thing.

Something _fae_ is hunting.

Gripping her knife and pointing it away from her body, at the darkness outside the shelter of her willow’s branches, she desperately tries to slow her racing heart. _You are a professional boxer. You are big, and … intimidating. And more importantly, you are a faerie. Your magic is strong. You are strong._ The hair on the back of her neck rises and sends prickles down her spine.

“SHOW YOURSELF!” Brienne bellows, willing, _praying_ that the thing will go away instead. Bravado will only carry her so far. 

For a few moments, the sound of her own breath is her only company. 

Then, it is as if the forest around her ceases to exist, and she hears it: a low growl from the trees to the right of the path which led her to the willow. Some primal part of Brienne’s human brain sets off alarm bells, screaming at her to run and not look back, to _never come back_ to this place.

But a stronger part, not quite faerie but perhaps more of Brienne alone, whispers to confront the beast. _This is my safe place._ No monster will drive her from it, no one will ever bully her again. 

“I SAID _SHOW YOURSELF_ ,” she roars into the trees, stepping out from the curtain of leaves she’s been hiding behind.

Silence reigns for several moments. 

Just as Brienne begins to wonder if the thing has turned tail and run, a low and melancholy howl issues forth from the darkness, and Brienne’s heart nearly stops. _A wolf._

As it steps out from the trees, it becomes clear that the wolf is too strange to be merely animal alone. On its hind legs it would dwarf even Brienne, and its icy blue eyes glow brightly in the moonlight. It is fae, that much is clear. Her instincts were right.

A thrill of fear runs down Brienne’s spine. Still the beast is silent, staring at Brienne without fear or recognition. Brienne stares back, heart once again pounding with all the strength and fear of a human cornered, willing the beast to leave. The world around her slows, narrowing in on the beast’s chilling eyes, and Brienne does not feel the biting cold of the fallen night or the sharp scent of the freezing river to her back. She raises the knife with all the care her mother’s sharp instincts have instilled in her, preparing for a fight.

But, to her surprise, the beast whines. Lowering its head to the ground, its eyes don’t leave her as it sits, submitting itself to her. It’s panting a little, tongue lolling out like a harmless, domestic puppy. Lowering the knife, Brienne allows herself a frown of confusion.

_Is this … a trick?_

Could it be playing the puppy before ripping out her jugular? It makes no sense – all that Brienne knows of wolves, even magical ones, tells her that they aren’t capable of such forethought. A wolf is a wolf is a wolf. They are only animals, magical or not.

The wolf rolls onto its back, presenting its belly and whining. It almost looks as if it wants to play, and Brienne cannot help the slightly hysterical thought that she could throw a stick and tell it to fetch before making a break for it. Still it does not break its gaze, wide eyes staring into hers – _Oh._

_Of course._

She has hypnotised the beast.

Trembling with the adrenalin which still courses through her veins, she hesitantly steps forward and lowers herself to the ground before the wolf. It reaches out and paws her leg, whining more. Without thinking Brienne stretches out a hand to rub the wolf’s belly, surprised by how soft and warm it is. _I’m patting a wolf like it’s a helpless puppy,_ she thinks, feeling slightly faint.

Looking away from the beast’s soft fur, her blood runs briefly cold to see the wolf has closed its eyes. Yet still it submits, panting happily as Brienne runs her fingers through its fur. Perhaps if she can lull it to sleep – or even now, she could run –

But as she moves to take her hand away, the wolf’s eyes open and it whines pathetically, nosing her hand and pressing its paws to her knees. Once more it stares deeply up into her eyes, and Brienne feels almost sorry for it.

“Must be lonely, being a magical wolf. Where’s your pack, eh,” She whispers to it as she begins to rub behind its ears. “I’m trying to find mine too.”

The wolf, of course, does not answer, but continues to nose her hands whenever she ceases to soothe it, curling up in her lap like its size and form are only to keep Brienne warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Some minor edits, 29/08/2015.


	3. In which our heroines meet, to the bemusement of all involved.

The first thing that Sansa realises upon waking is that there is something very warm at her back. For the moment, she snuggles down into it, unthinking, quite willing to take shelter from the freezing air. It’s not normally so cold in her room in the morning, what with the ducted heating her mother had insisted on upon first arrival at Winterfell manor, a good twenty-five years ago. Usually it clicks on at about five o’clock every morning, early enough that it’ll be tolerable by the time her father leaves at six, and positively toasty by the time the rest of the household begins waking at seven. 

Frowning, Sansa raises her arms to rub at her eyes, blinking blearily against the morning sunlight. The movement alerts her to the sensation of gritty dirt against her bare stomach, and she freezes.

_Oh no. Not again._

Attempting to swallow the rising panic in her throat, Sansa shoots up and realises with a jolt that the warm presence at her back is a person, one who is rapidly waking up. As they groan and stretch, Sansa realises it’s only a matter of time before they spot her, naked and absolutely vulnerable. Catching only a flash of cropped blonde hair, Sansa scrambles backwards, searching for a weapon – a stick – anything –

“Woah, hey! It’s ok!” Sansa freezes, facing away from the stranger, heart thumping in her chest like a hammer.

“Hey, listen, I’m not going to hurt you. Spirits, how did you end up like that? … How did _I_ end up like this?”

The voice sounds confused, but surprisingly high. Probably female? It’s hard to tell with her back turned, but Sansa is too afraid to turn around. A woman as large as that could still hurt her, god knows how she’d ended up in their arms. Sansa can’t think, too paralysed with fear to form any coherent thoughts beyond _run_.

“Listen, um … you look cold. I don’t know why you’re naked, I swear I had nothing to do with it, I don’t even know you. So, uh, I’m just going to leave my coat on the ground here, and you can put it on. I won’t look, I swear.” Sansa hears the sounds of an item of clothing being removed and dropped, unceremoniously, to the ground, a couple of metres behind her. The stranger takes several loud steps backwards and a shuffling sound commences, presumably the stranger making a show of turning around.

Sansa deliberates. She could make a break for it now – she thinks she recognises these woods as the same woods that surround Winterfell, only she’s much further away from those thickets that surround the south side of the manor than she’d expected to be come morning. God knows how she’d managed to escape the fields, let alone run halfway across the forest. 

All she’d need to do to get away from the stranger would be to get a head start and run back the way she came, up north. In her wolf form, it would be easy.

But … there’s frost on the ground, and already Sansa’s losing feeling in her toes. Her waist-length hair may preserve some of her modesty, but it won’t exactly keep her warm. She needs warmth, and she needs to get inside quickly. 

She turns around.

Just as promised, the stranger has their back to her. Sansa darts forward and shrugs on the enormous overcoat. It’s long enough that it nearly comes to her ankles, which is no mean feat considering Sansa’s height. Then again, as she peers as the stranger’s hulking back, they are enormous. They’re well over six feet tall, and Sansa suppresses a shiver of fear, fighting the urge to run. This stranger may be of some use yet – she cannot afford to run, not with the cold, not exhausted as she always is from running about in her wolf form all night.

Clearing her throat, which feels raw from the cold air, Sansa speaks.

“You can turn around now.”

The stranger turns, slowly. Sansa’s surprised to find that they look sheepish, even blushing under her scrutinising gaze.

“Hello,” they say, uncomfortably. 

Sansa gathers her wits before speaking again, attempting to look and sound bigger and braver than she actually feels.

“Tell me your name. I ought to call the police.”

The stranger’s eyes widen, and _oh_. They have very blue eyes. Sansa forces her gaze to the stranger’s cheeks, just below their eyes.

“Oh no, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise! And, um. My name is Brienne. I was just … I mean, last night, there was a wolf, at least, I think it was? I don’t really …”

_Of course._ Sansa hadn’t even been thinking, too preoccupied with her terror at the strang– _Brienne_ , she hadn’t even remembered the previous night. Fighting the urge to press her face into her hands and groan, Sansa blushes instead as she realises what’s happened.

“Ah. Yes.” Before Sansa even gets the chance to begin to _wonder_ how to explain why Brienne fell asleep cradling a wolf and awoke with a naked girl, Brienne interrupts.

“Wait a moment! I knew the beast was fae, but I never suspected – you’re a werewolf, aren’t you?” Brienne’s eyes are shining now, bright with excitement and relief that she hasn’t been involved in any nefarious business.

Well. More nefarious than getting involved with a mythical hunter of the night.

“Well that’s just – I mean, werewolves aren’t – I’m sorry, what?” Sansa sputters. She winces. _Nice save, Stark,_ she can hear her sister's voice mocking in the back of her mind.

Brienne gives a small smile. “You’re not the only fae in town, Miss. I’m part faerie, you see,” she says, sheepishly rubbing her neck.

That explains it, then. Well thank god she won’t be explaining how she'd ended up naked in the middle of the forest to a human, at least.

“Oh … right. Well then. I – I mean, yes, I am a werewolf, yes. Did I …” Sansa swallows past a lump in her throat: fear, shame and anxiety wrapped up in a neat little ball. “Did I hurt you?” She whispers.

Brienne steps forward, making an aborted movement to raise her arm and reassure her. “No, no. I’m fine. Actually … you were rather playful.”

_Playful?_

“What?”

That sheepish look again. Brienne appears to blush even harder, if such a thing were possible. “Yes. It’s my fault, you see. Part faerie. I know I don’t look it, but I have the glamour and I – well, I hypnotised you. Not on purpose, at first,” she hurries to explain. “But by the time I realised I was doing it I thought it might be safer, for both of us. And then … well, I suppose we just fell asleep.”

Sansa lets the relief wash over her before she can think not to. She didn’t hurt anyone. This woman stopped her, made her wolf playful, even. With a start, Sansa realises there are tears pricking at her eyes. _It’s not like before._ She closes her eyes for a moment.

“Oh,” is all she manages to get out.

There’s a long, awkward pause while Brienne shuffles in the dirt. A cool breeze rises soon enough, however, and Sansa shivers, violently, shattering the stillness.

“Oh, goodness. You must be freezing. I’ve, uh, I’ve got a car up the path a bit. I drove up here last night – I could drive you home, where do you live?”

A car. A car with a _heater_. Sansa definitely needs to sit down and bask in warm air right now. Her mother is probably losing it right now – she should get back soon. She’s worried about Rickon, with only Arya home at the moment to look out for him, who knows what might have happened last night …

“Winterfell manor, up near the Wall Estate. You know it?”

Brienne’s face brightens. “Yes, my mother’s from up north, beyond the Wall. I can get you there easy.”

Later, as Sansa wriggles her toes in Brienne’s Kia Cerato in an attempt to get some feeling back into them in the warmer air, she can’t help but wonder why Brienne stayed with her. When she voices the question, Brienne shrugs, eyes never leaving the road.

“Well, I just … I don’t know. You looked … lonely. Like you’d lost your pack.” Brienne turns to her for a brief moment, and once again Sansa is struck by how very blue Brienne’s eyes are. _Like sapphires_. “I guess I understand that,” Brienne says, furiously blushing.

_I have a pack_ , Sansa thinks, but it’s not quite true. Her pack loves her and she loves them, but her wolf has never learned how to stay still, how to recognise home. She wishes she knew how to tell the wolf that Winterfell is her home; that her family is her pack and her pack is her family. 

But for now, she sighs and leans her head against the window as Winterfell comes into view over the hill. At least in this form, she can feel joy in the sight of it once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I abandoned this fic for like a year. I don't even have an excuse. I'm sorry.


	4. In which Brienne discovers what it's like to be the hypnotisee.

Winterfell manor is situated on a hill some five or six miles south of the Northern Wall, an ancient estate that fell into the hands of the Black Brothers, a sect born of northern spiritualism, nearly a century ago. The Black Brothers had founded a school there with the intention of providing the highest quality of education attainable. This object they had indeed achieved over the ninety years the school had been in the business of education, leading to a reputation that named Sacred Heart-Tree College the most prestigious school in the county, if not the whole north.

Brienne never attended Sacred Heart-Tree College, but knows of its reputation. She suspects that the strange young woman sitting beside her probably attended there – their magical and fae program is kept tastefully under wraps to avoid public scrutiny, yet word of mouth, plus the school’s already prestigious reputation, has led fae families from all over the country to fight for a place for their children there.

Brienne can only dream of such an education. She went to a local public school, full of humans who mocked the religious devotion of the Black Brothers to spirits and fae creatures that couldn’t possibly be real. _If only they knew._ The Black Brothers may have been created as a front for real fae, but there have always been human adherents who devote their lives to religions born of fae worship. Brienne knows that keeping the fae population of Westeros a secret is for the best – especially when real, human worshippers have always been taken advantage of by less-than-honest fae. Still, it was not always easy to be raised in a place where her very existence was questioned and mocked, unknowingly, by clueless humans who bullied her for her shyness regardless.

As Winterfell comes into view over the crest of a hill that just borders the estate, Brienne feels a twinge of envy for the privileged life the woman beside her must live, living in such a lavish, grand home a mere ten minute drive from the school. Glancing at her errant passenger, Brienne notices the pinched expression on her face – two faint lines between her brows, and the slightest downturn of her mouth. Of course, Brienne knows it’s been a trying morning for her, but still – to have such a home, one which must surely be warm and welcoming to return to, and still seem so troubled … she wonders what the young woman isn’t telling her. Disaster has been averted, hasn’t it? Isn’t Brienne playing the knight in shining armour she always fancied herself to be when she was young, pretending to rescue princesses from towers as if somehow she could rescue herself in the process?

The woman glances back at Brienne now, lifting her head from the cool glass window; twisting her neck to face her. That troubled expression changes to one of curiosity and surprise at Brienne’s staring. The morning sunlight shines like fire in her hair, and as she opens her mouth to speak, Brienne feels a strange and unwelcome flutter in her stomach.

“ _Watch out!_ ” The woman shrieks, and Brienne turns back to the road just in time to see a fence looming before them before she jerks the wheel to the right and slams on the break, the car skidding to a halt on the patch of gravel beside the road.

Before she can even think to be embarrassed, Brienne turns off the car and turns to the woman.

“Oh spirits, I’m so sorry,” she blurts out, shaking with the adrenaline rush.

The woman takes a moment to breathe heavily, her hands braced on the dashboard, forming a death grip. 

“It’s – it’s ok, the roads up here are so twisty …” Lowering her hands, the woman turns to Brienne once more, wide eyes not quite calm yet. “I was just … I was going to say you can stop here if you want anyway. So I guess it’s for the best,” she says, letting out a weak laugh.

Brienne blinks.

“Let you out? Miss, there’s still two miles to go, you’ll freeze!” She says, incredulous.

“No, it’s all right. I would have been lucky to walk two miles back this morning, you’ve done more than enough.” The woman smiles encouragingly, though the effect is ruined when she shivers just a little in the cooling air of the car, now that the heater is no longer blasting hot air at full bore. 

“No, I’m sorry, it would be irresponsible of me. It’s my fault you stayed out in the woods all night, if I hadn’t hypnotised you you’d be those two miles away, I’m sure of it,” says Brienne, feeling guilty yet determined.

The woman laughs a little, though it sounds almost harsh. “I wouldn’t be so sure. The wolf is always doing this, she carries me far away from my family, no matter how hard I try to – well. I count myself lucky you found me, and not someone else.” The woman looks at her with urgency in her eyes now. “Please believe me. You’ve done more than enough, I promise you.” 

Brienne feels herself wavering, but despite the woman’s height and the graceful beauty she embodies, she still looks small and exhausted in Brienne’s winter overcoat.

“Look,” says Brienne. “Just let me drive you up to the driveway at Winterfell. You can’t argue with that.”

Brienne sees the woman considering, that pinched expression returning. When she sighs, Brienne knows she’s won.

“All right. But please, just to the driveway. My family are – they can be a little overwhelming and they’ve probably been ever so worried about me, I don’t want to have to put you through that.”

“Of course. Just to the driveway, I promise,” Brienne says, before turning to face the wheel once more and turning the key in the ignition. 

The woman huddles a little deeper into Brienne’s coat, and Brienne feels something a little like pity – no. Something different. Some sharp tug, deep within her chest, right below her heart, at the sight of this woman so clearly trying to keep it together. Spirits only know where the woman learned that instinct; to keep her face passive and calm no matter how exhausted and upset she must be feeling.

“Oh!” Brienne says, suddenly remembering. “I don’t even know your name. I mean, you’re not obliged to tell me, but I just thought seeing as you know mine, and just in case I need to –”

“It’s Sansa. Sansa Stark,” says the woman, cutting off Brienne’s chatter, for which Brienne is grateful.

“Sansa,” says Brienne after a moment, feeling out the name with her mouth. It feels like a summer breeze.

“Yes, that’s it,” says Sansa, with a tentative smile. “It’s such a simple name, but most people get it wrong the first time …”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Brienne says softly. 

Blushing at the sudden warmth in her voice, Brienne clears her throat and pushes the gear stick into drive, turning her attention to the road once more. Try as she might, she cannot quite ignore the memory of Sansa’s secret smile, replaying it over and over again in her mind’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's over and I'm BACK baby.


	5. In which Sansa receives advice.

Sansa, of course, is in terrible trouble when she arrives home, still wrapped in Brienne’s enormous overcoat. Her mother fusses and barely restrains herself from yelling – only resisting because she understands her children will be delicate for days after the full moon, and for that, Sansa is grateful. Her mother will never be able to run with them, but it is good to have a human influence in the household, one which soothes and tempers where Stark blood – even Sansa’s – would run hot. 

Arya, damn her, barely strayed a mile from Winterfell, and returned by dawn with Rickon and Bran in tow to the southern thicket of trees the Starks have kept specially for full moon transformations for generations. Sansa had thought that Arya might struggle to keep a hold on their brothers with Robb and Jon away at school, but she’s proved a far better pack member than Sansa, despite being younger than her. Sansa can’t help but feel the irony in her sister’s perfect ease at pack leadership despite the consistent trouble she’d been in her early teens, especially compared with herseld, the model daughter with good grades and a perfect record of civility, utterly losing all control and memory to her wolf every month, not recognising her own pack – her _family_ – at all. 

_Just goes to show appearances aren’t worth a damn thing,_ she thinks gloomily a few days later as she curls up in bed. Rainfall outside the manor’s walls muffles the world of the woods to her heightened senses, for which she is thankful. The call of the woods has always, for her, been somewhere too close to the human urge to jump from high places.

There’s a knock at her door, startling her from her reverie. Before Sansa can answer, the door bursts open with slightly too much force, causing it to hit her dresser with a bang.

Arya, standing sheepishly in her doorway, winces. “Sorry,” she says, entering the room and closing the door gingerly. Sansa tries not to snap at her, knowing that Arya will likely never learn to think before she acts and none of her scoldings will never change that.

Arya sits on the edge of the bed and stares out Sansa’s window at the heavy rain. There’s a moment of tense silence as Sansa pretends she doesn’t know what Arya’s going to say, but finally Arya takes a breath.

“So … I’m going to be honest with you, I may have been a little optimistic about the last full moon.”

“You think?” Sansa asks, sulking despite herself.

Arya turns to face her, and Sansa frowns and hides her face under the covers.

“I _am_ sorry, Sansa, I swear. I was just thinking maybe a run beforehand would tire out the wolf – you know you don’t let it out as often as the rest of us. I just thought, maybe if you’d let it out when it’s not a full moon a bit more often, it wouldn’t be so … you know?”

Sansa continues to hide her face in stony silence. Arya sighs.

“You have to loosen up, sis. I’m telling you, it’s like … I don’t know, like skateboarding.”

Sansa can’t suppress a snort at that analogy, and can almost feel her sister rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you think skateboarding is an idiotic sport except for when hot boys do it, I get it. I’m serious, though. With skateboarding, it’s like … you have to lean into it. You need to let go of all the instincts making you stiff and clumsy, and just kind of … treat the board like it’s apart of you. Like your wolf, which actually is apart of you, by the way.”

Sansa throws back the covers and musters up a _look_ which she throws at Arya with all the severity she can muster. “So you’re telling me I should take up skateboarding, then?” 

Arya grins at her. “Nah. I’m telling you, sis, you have to _practise_.”

“Yes, well … That’s easier said than done.”

“I know. I get that you’re afraid of losing control of it, but … you have to give it something. A wolf shouldn’t be on a leash, Sansa.” Arya’s voice is sadder now, and Sansa almost can’t stand Arya’s pity. She knows it’s selfish to be envious of her little sister considering how easy Sansa’s always had by comparison – at least socially. But Arya’s always taken to her wolf like she was born to it. Like they’d both been born to it – the legacy of generations of Starks, and one Sansa has wasted with her own incompetence.

“I know,” Sansa says in a small voice, sitting up. “I know. It just feels like every time I loosen whatever control I _do_ have, it just … takes over everything. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never come back.” To her embarrassment, Sansa realises there are tears threatening to well over in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” says Arya, moving closer to throw an arm around her. “Seriously, Sansa, if anyone can figure out how to deal with a raging, feral wolf, you can.”

“Yeah,” Sansa mutters gloomily. “I guess.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes more, before Sansa turns to Arya and smiles. “Hey,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Want to rant about Gendry’s latest grand act of obliviousness?”

With that, Arya groans and immediately launches into a detailed monologue about her best friend’s complete unawareness of her long-lasting crush on him. Sansa’s happy for the change of subject and even happier to tease her sister with tips on how to attract the attention of even the most unobservant boys. They spend the rest of the afternoon curled up in Sansa’s bed, and for those brief couple of hours, Sansa almost manages to forget the wolf that prowls in her soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update this time!


	6. In which Jaime annoys his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for use of slurs in this chapter, guys - vague mentions of lesbophobic taunts, and a disabled character using an ableist slur to refer to himself. I don't condone his words, but after thinking it over, have concluded that is the sort of language that character would use, albeit sarcastically/jokingly.

It’s only been a week since Brienne left Sansa trudging up the Stark manor driveway, but Brienne doesn’t think she’s been able to stop thinking about the terrifying-werewolf-turned-beautiful-young-woman once, and it’s driving her mad. More than once, her attention has wandered at the gym when she was supposed to have been spotting for one of her regulars – the latest incident having happened that very day, almost causing her to miss Obara Sand’s far too ambitious choice of weights.

Fortunately, only Obara’s pride was wounded. Unfortunately, Brienne’s distraction has been noted.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” A voice, sounding far too casual to belong to anyone but Brienne’s fellow gym trainer and pain in the neck, Jaime, floats over the door of the changing cubicle Brienne is currently locked in.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Jaime, this is the women’s change-room,” Brienne grumbles, struggling to yank a clean shirt over her head.

“And I’ll tell you again, it’s nine at night and only you and I and whatever fungi living in the showers are here. Besides, you could surely take on a poor cripple like me in a fight,” Jaime replies, and Brienne can almost see the irritating smirk on his face from behind the door.

Jaime had come to King’s Landing several years ago, seeking refuge after getting himself in too deep with a crime ring in the Westerlands, resulting in the loss of his right hand. His therapist, Dr. Selmy, had recommended Brienne’s father’s gym both as a job which would benefit him in regards to his physical therapy, and perhaps give him a new purpose after leaving his old life behind. Jaime had been a haunted man, then, with a family name and reputation that afforded him little in the way of sympathy in King’s Landing. 

Brienne, being much younger and less forgiving, had disliked him intensely at first. But over time, they had formed a sort of truce which ended up giving way to genuine friendship – the kind which allowed Jaime to tell her things he’d never told anyone but Selmy, like the truth of his relationship with the sister he’d left behind. Brienne, in return, had shown him the truth of her fae side. After that, Brienne couldn’t help but feel that she might, on a good day, take a bullet for him. Or at least charm the owner of the gun into dropping it.

Finally managing to turn the twisted shirt around the right way, Brienne pulls it over her head and stuffs the rest of her belongings in her bag before opening the door. Jaime grins at her, utterly unrepentant, as he drops onto the bench in the centre of the room.

“Come on, you can’t throw me off. You’ve been acting odd all week. Who’s the guy?”

“There isn’t one,” Brienne replies, setting down her things beside him and collapsing heavily onto the bench.

Jaime makes a disbelieving noise somewhere between a snort and a puff of air, tapping his foot against the floor.

“There isn’t! It’s – It’s complicated.” Brienne resists the urge to wince at herself.

“Yes, and I certainly don’t do complicated,” Jaime says sarcastically.

Brienne allows herself to feel guilty for just a moment, (it doesn’t do to encourage Jaime’s ego,) before bracing herself to speak the truth. 

“I met … I met a girl.”

Jaime raises his eyebrows.

“Not like that!” Brienne hastily amends. “She’s like me – sort of. She’s fae. A werewolf.”

“… A werewolf,” Jaime says flatly, staring at her incredulously.

“Ah, yeah. Forgot to mention them.”

“You don’t say.”

“Anyway, I met her while she was … uh, wolfing? On the full moon.”

Brienne can’t help but wonder whether Jaime’s eyebrows can get any higher.

“It was fine, though,” she adds hastily. “I was out in the woods and I just happened on her. And, well, I hypnotised her. By accident.”

“Oh, of course, who would think to defend themselves with magic at their command _intentionally_?” 

Brienne punches his arm.

“… Ouch,” Jaime mutters, more for show than out of genuine pain.

“Anyway, I didn’t know what to do except … leave her hypnotised. So we just ended up falling asleep together and then when we woke up, she was human, and I drove her home.”

“Was she naked?”

“ _What_?” Brienne sputters. 

Jaime smiles pleasantly.

“Well, I guess that answers that.”

“Why would you – _what_?” Brienne desperately wishes her cheeks weren’t so hot.

“She’s a werewolf, werewolves aren’t known for magically growing clothes – at least, well, in fiction. Ergo, she was probably naked.”

Brienne fumes in silence for a moment before giving in.

“Well. I mean … Yes. She was naked. I wasn’t exactly _looking_ , though, considering how she didn’t know where she was and I didn’t even know she actually was the wolf at first.”

“Fine, fine, you woke up cuddling a naked girl in the woods, it doesn’t mean anything, I’m sure,” Jaime says, holding up his arms in a gesture of defeat.

“ _Yes_. Precisely.”

They sit in silence for a few moments more, Jaime patiently continuing to tap his foot on the tiled floor. Brienne sighs in defeat.

“It’s just … I can’t stop thinking about her.” The admission feels humiliating, no matter how badly Brienne wishes she didn’t still feel this shame.

“Ahhh, and there it is. I must admit, I didn’t have you pinned as the type, despite what others say.”

Brienne flushes an even deeper shade of red as memories of school and the taunts of _dyke_ and _ugly butch_ that followed her through the halls suddenly rear their ugly heads.

“Don’t, Jaime. Please don’t.”

Jaime hesitates, sensing that he’s crossed the line. 

“Sorry.” It’s a rare concession from a man who uses bravado and tasteless humour to scare people away.

Brienne rubs at her eyes to give her hands something to do.

“It’s okay. Just don’t … not about that stuff. I’ve had enough of that.”

“Okay,” Jaime replies. “I have to ask, though, I mean – are you going to see her again?”

Brienne blinks, thrown off by the unexpected question.

“Um, I don’t know,” she admits.

“Well then,” Jaime says cheerfully, clapping his hand on her shoulder. “That’s your next move! You drove her home, you know where she lives. Go and say you wanted to check up on her.”

Brienne mulls over the idea. It’s … surprisingly not bad, considering how ridiculous Jaime’s ideas usually are.

“Coming from you, that’s a weirdly good plan,” she concedes.

Jaime places his hand on his chest, looking offended. 

“Brienne Tarth, my ideas are always ingenious.”

Brienne can’t help but let out a laugh at that, easing the tension from earlier.

“Come on. Let’s lock up,” she replies, instead of indulging him. Ignoring his nightly complaints that her father ought to be paying both of them double what they get for all the work he does, Brienne looks out on the moonlit night with something like hope in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough chapter! Jaime is a hard character to pin down, especially in such a radically different AU. Thoughts/constructive criticism on his characterisation is welcome.


	7. In which Brienne encounters a goth.

Sansa’s last mid term exam has finally, _finally_ passed and she wants nothing more than to retreat from the rest of the world, including her family – _especially_ her family – in her bedroom. She is once more wrapping a blanket around her overworked body on a dreary afternoon, though this time it’s exam stress alone causing the physical symptoms. Memories of her last transformation make the normally comforting act a great deal more unpleasant, and she’s still struggling to settle the tight knot of anxiety triggered by it. _Par for the course_ , she thinks bitterly, even as she tries to suppress the ugly wave of self-loathing that still rises in her after all these years. _Self soothe_ , she hears her aunt repeating in her head, feeling like a mockery. 

It isn’t fair of Sansa, she knows – if anyone could understand the cycle of self hatred that Sansa had struggled to shake off since the end of her failed relationship with Joffrey ( _abuse, Sansa, say the word_ , repeat her aunt, her mother, her father) – it’s Lyanna. But Lyanna has always retreated to her wolf when the going gets really tough. And the going can get tough indeed when her ex’s famous family make headlines, leaving Lyanna little room to escape him. Sansa doesn’t have a wolf to comfort her from petty human drama, only a beast to make her forget her own name.

In any case, Lyanna is travelling now, as she has been on and off since before Sansa was born. Lyanna has never been neglectful of Jon, her son and Sansa’s cousin, and even takes him with her when she can – but Sansa is immensely grateful that her own mother, human as she may be, has always kept her family tightly knit. Sansa knows that the custody battle for Jon was an unpleasant affair, though she was too young to remember it. Sansa remembers only enough to know that Catelyn used to be just the slightest bit cooler towards Jon, when they were both younger. As time went on and the true extent of Lyanna’s abuse came out – in panic attacks and late night, and especially in frequent flights to far-off Pentos, Lys, and Qaarth, as far away from Westeros as she could get – Catelyn seemed to become more understanding. 

The doorbell interrupts Sansa’s maudlin thoughts, but she decides to leave it. One of the perks of having such an enormous family is that there’s always someone else to get up and answer the door for you. Upstairs, on the third floor of the house, Sansa can’t hear who it is, but she resolves herself to ignoring any visitors. She’s earned her _Little Mermaid_ marathon, and if the third movie won’t put her off that, nothing will.

Unfortunately, two minutes later and before the opening song has even finished, Sansa hears Bran loudly calling for her.

“HEY, SANSA. THERE’S SOMEONE AT THE DOOR FOR YOU.”

Sansa groans quietly to herself. So much for _The Little Mermaid_. She must hesitate a moment too long in answering, though, because Bran shouts again.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE MY OWN SISTER IS MAKING HER PARAPLEGIC BROTHER CLIMB THE STAIRS! YOU SEE HOW I GET TREATED!” He shouts, and Sansa rolls her eyes.

“I’M COMING DOWN! GET OVER YOURSELF, BRAN,” she yells right back as she opens the door and begins descending the stairs. There is, of course, a perfectly able elevator that had been installed years ago for Bran to use. _Little brothers_ , Sansa thinks to herself, stepping onto the first floor and rounding the corner where Bran and their guest are waiting.

And then she stops short.

It’s the woman from the woods.

~

Brienne’s palms feel clammy and disgusting, and not just from the steering wheel of her car. In this moment, standing at the open gate at the end of the Stark manor driveway, she truly hates Jaime Lannister and curses herself for managing to be best friends with him anyway.

The manor is every bit as imposing now as it had been when Brienne left Sansa exactly where she is currently standing, but there are details she had missed the first time, staying inside the car, that she can now appreciate. The driveway divides the extensive garden in two – a garden which is immaculately attended to, with rows of dark blue and snow white roses forming hedges alongside the gravel. There is surprisingly little grass, the large areas where most rich families would show off green lawns having been divided into square plots. Some of the plots host flowers which remain colourful and vibrant even as autumn is beginning to close its cold hands around summer. Others, though, host humbler vegetables – tomatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins, and radishes, alongside others Brienne doesn’t immediately recognise.

Despite the overflowing, beautiful garden which leads up to the main home, however, Winterfell remains an impressively imposing structure. Brienne knows nothing about architecture – but if she had to bet, she’d say the main building is easily a hundred years old, with tall windows and an enormous set of front doors speaking of the scale of the rooms within the building. The outer walls are made of some sort of dark, bluish-black stone that Brienne cannot name, covered here and there with ancient climbing vines. Brienne shivers to think of the things the house has seen.

_Stop it_. There is no sense in making herself more anxious. Making friends is not one of Brienne’s strong suits, making friends with rich people – well. It’s never happened before. Brienne grimly supposes that not being able to predict any potentially awkward mistakes of hers in this new situation might actually serve her better in the long run.

_Now or never_ , she thinks, stomach a whirlwind of butterflies, and begins trudging up the gravel path.

The worn door knocker is shaped like a roaring wolf, and Brienne can’t help but wonder just how long Sansa’s werewolf lineage stretches back. She doesn’t have time to wonder for long, however, as someone answers within seconds of her knocking.

The teenager who opens the door, Brienne surmises, is probably Sansa’s little brother. He has the same eyes, though his hair is black. Looking more closely, though, Brienne thinks she can detect red roots – _some kind of dye, then?_ The kid looks to be smack bang in the middle of a goth phase – even his wheelchair is decked out in black paint and gleaming metal spikes. He eyes her mildly.

“Um, I’m looking for Sansa. Does she live here?” Brienne asks, wincing – _of course she lives here, stupid_.

“Yeah,” says the boy. “Who’re you?”

“Uh, Brienne. I don’t know if she told you – um, that is. We met … in the woods. I drove her home?” Brienne doesn’t know how to bring up the werewolf issue, or whether she even should, in front of this stranger, no matter how much he appears to be related to Sansa.

“Ohhh,” says the boy, a spark of recognition in his eyes. “So you’re the one that found her out there? When we woke up, we had no idea where she’d gone – though that’s normal, of course, she just went a little further out of range than normal that time. We’re a pack, you see. Guess we should be thanking you, then.”

“Oh, no, that’s not why I’m here,” Brienne says, feeling awkward, though relieved to see that the kid seems to be just as much a werewolf as Sansa. “I just, uh. Wanted to check up on her, you know? She seemed like she was in a bad shape, last time we met, and I just …” Brienne trails off, not knowing where she’s going with her babbling.

Luckily, the kid either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and simply nods.

“Okay. Come through,” he says, wheeling himself back from the door and letting her step through.

His shouting startles her, and she stares at him in shock, amazed that such a skinny kid could possess such a voice. He shouts again, uncaring, and then –

Then Sansa bellows right back. The kid isn’t the only one with a set of lungs on him. _Must run in the family_ , Brienne thinks. Like the lycanthropy, apparently.

After a few moments of awkward silence during which the kid makes no effort at small talk, and Brienne doesn’t know where to begin, Sansa appears.

She rounds the corner of the gigantic hall Brienne is standing in looking utterly exhausted. Her hair is bound up in a messy knot on top of her head and she’s wearing comfortable tracksuit pants. Her expression is the kind of blank look that only comes from real fatigue, and there are bags under her eyes. Those same eyes widen as she comes to a stop at the sight of Brienne and her brother in the hall.

She looks every bit as beautiful as the last time Brienne saw her.

_Get a hold of yourself, Tarth_ , she thinks to herself, but suddenly, she has no idea what to say.

“This is that woman who rescued you, right?” The boy says, turning to face her. “Brienne, right?”

“Yes,” says Brienne, finding herself unsure of what to say next.

The boy raises his eyebrows at both of them, and Sansa still hasn’t spoken.

“Well … cool. I’m off, then,” he mutters, wheeling himself around the opposite corner from where Sansa had entered.

An awkward silence ensues, and Brienne feels incredibly foolish. What in the names of all the spirits was she thinking, coming here? Sansa obviously doesn’t need her help or her … affection.

“Hello,” says Sansa, giving a small, tired smile. It’s the kind of smile, Brienne thinks, that develops as a habit, an automatic response.

“Hi,” says Brienne, before pausing. _Oh spirits, just speak!_ “I was just … I wanted to, uh. Check up on you. I mean, when we last met, you just seemed …”

Sansa looks at the ground and folds her arms across her chest, still smiling that horribly polite smile.

“Ah, yeah. It’s … honestly, it’s usually much worse. Please don’t feel bad,” she replies, answering a question Brienne hasn’t asked.

“It’s _worse_ than that?” Brienne blurts out.

Sansa shrugs, and her expression shifts into something troubled. “Well, it is for me. I’m sure you’d’ve had much less hassle with one of my siblings, even Rickon.”

“Was he the boy who answered the door?”

Sansa smiles, and it’s real this time, Brienne can tell. “No. That was Bran. Rickon’s the baby of the family – he still needs Arya’s help so he doesn’t stray.”

“Arya?”

“Oh, my sister. She’s the pack leader – for now, anyway. She takes care of Bran and Rickon. My father and older brothers are away at the moment, usually they’re in charge of keeping the younger ones in line,” Sansa explains.

“I see,” says Brienne. She can’t help but note that Sansa did not include herself in that line-up. “I … I don’t mean to overstep, but … Aren’t you apart of your family’s pack? I would have assumed that was just …automatic.” 

The smile turns bitter once more. “They’re my family. But no, they’re not my pack.” Sansa doesn’t offer an explanation.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Sansa replies, quietly. Unfolding her arms, she suddenly shrugs, turning the wattage of her smile up again. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so rude. Come in for some tea,” she says, turning and walking towards the same corner the boy – _Bran_ – had disappeared behind, before Brienne can reply.

She hurries to follow, feeling flustered and embarrassed about her prying. “It’s all right, really! I can go, honestly, I just wanted to see how you were,” she says.

Sansa laughs. “Come on, what’s a cup of tea between magical folk?” She speaks so lightly, as if she’s used to tiptoeing around other people’s emotions.

They enter a surprisingly snug and cosy kitchen. Brienne had thought that a house so large must have cold and empty rooms to match, but there are signs of life everywhere in the tiny room. On the ancient wooden table in the centre of the room is a copy of the local newspaper, sitting beside a vase of hand picked flowers and a dish with breadcrumbs still littering the surface around it. The walls are ancient brick, though there are modern amenities in the form of a fridge, oven, and a gleaming metal sink.

“Thank you,” Brienne murmurs, sitting in one of the chairs at the table.

Sansa reaches over to the stove and switches it on, before filling a kettle with water and placing it over the flame.

“I should be thanking you, honestly,” says Sansa, taking her place in the chair next to Brienne. “I’ve had to walk back before, but it’s never pleasant. Especially so close to winter – I’ve come close to losing a couple of toes before.”

Brienne raises her eyebrows. “You’ve – you’ve gotten _frostbite_?”

Sansa nods. “Occupational hazard. Arya and the others, they know to be close to home by dawn, even in their wolf form – it’s instinct.”

“And … you don’t?”

Sansa’s jaw tightens, just slightly. “My wolf … my wolf does what it likes, really. Never quite got the hang of – ah, the kettle’s boiled,” she says, quickly changing the subject. It’s a clumsy segue, but Brienne doesn’t push the point. She can’t help but feel there’s something else going on, but it’s really none of her business what Sansa’s wolf does. They are still little more than strangers.

As if she’s read her mind, Sansa continues to speak as she takes two mugs out from a cupboard below the bench. “Now we’re sharing tea, I suppose we ought to get to know each other,” she says, smiling.

“Oh, I – there’s not much to know,” Brienne replies quickly, desperately hoping her burning curiosity hadn’t been too obvious in her face.

“Sure there is! I mean, do you live down in King’s Landing?” Sansa asks, switching off the stove and placing two teabags in the steaming water of the mugs.

“On the outskirts. My father owns a gym in town, but I prefer the forest. It’s – easier. To be fae out there, I mean.” Brienne’s voice softens at the reminder of the forest. It’s true – the woods that flank the northern edge of King’s Landing have always been a comfort on those days she longs to drop her guard, let her magic run free. 

“Yes,” says Sansa, softly, before bringing the tea to the table. “Do you work at the gym, then?” 

“Oh, yes! I’m a personal trainer, mostly, but I also box. I’m … I’m actually the local women’s heavyweight champion, though they won’t let me compete in the men’s, which is ridiculous because I just know I could beat The Hound any day.” Brienne can’t stop herself from getting overexcited, but it always happens when she gets the chance to talk about the one thing she knows she’s good at.

Luckily, however, Sansa seems interested. “Really? Who’s The Hound?”

“Oh, he’s this gigantic bloke from the Westerlands. Clegane’s his name, I think, although –”

Brienne is interrupted by Sansa nearly dropping her mug onto the table, spilling a few drops. Sansa has gone pale, white knuckles clenching the mug so hard Brienne’s worried she’ll break it. Before Brienne can react, Sansa speaks. 

“What – what did you say his name was?”

“Clegane. Sandor Clegane,” Brienne replies slowly, uncertain as to how she’s miss-stepped.

Sansa doesn’t reply, staring into her tea with something akin to a hundred yard gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says, though she doesn’t know what she’s done. “Are you all right? Do you need me to get your brother?”

“No!” Sansa says suddenly. She lets go of the mug, placing her hands in her lap where she twists them about, nervously. “No, I’m so sorry. I just thought, for a moment – I just remembered something. It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?” Brienne asks, now certain that there is something Sansa is not telling her. _It’s none of your business, Tarth_.

“I’m sure,” Sansa says more firmly. “I really am so sorry. Please – what were you saying about boxing?”

Faced with Sansa’s reluctance to explain herself, Brienne has no choice to keep talking about her mundane life. As they speak and the afternoon wears on, however, she finds herself oddly content. Sansa is a born listener, and Brienne finds herself saying more words than she’s said to anyone but Jaime in weeks. It only dawns on her hours later, while she’s driving home in the fading light of the late afternoon – Sansa barely said a word about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goth!Bran is real, and you know it. Didn't have room to include it in this chapter, but Bran is super into nature. His friend Jojen is definitely in the process of getting him into weed. 
> 
> Let's hope Sansa learns to open up a bit more!


	8. In which Sansa asks Brienne for a favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for discussions of fitness/exercise/a gym setting, if you need to be warned for those things. Also a brief mention of a past abusive relationship.

To say that Sansa had been surprised by Brienne’s visit would be an understatement. Sansa had gotten used to her solitary existence, having spent her time with her family alone these past … She can’t remember. _Far too long_. She had been nearly friendless for at least a year. 

But Brienne had stayed, and talked for hours in the family kitchen about herself, and Sansa had hung on her every word. It was something Sansa hadn’t even realised she missed. Since Margaery left to go to Highgarden’s most prestigious university while Sansa stayed at Winterfell, attending the much less lauded local university, Sansa’s visitors have been few and far between. Even Jeyne, her best friend and neighbour since they were little girls, lives in King’s Landing now and rarely has time to talk.

After Joffrey, many friends she would have considered close once had left.

That’s what makes Brienne so unexpected. Even knowing about the wolf – even seeing it in person, being exposed to the monster that lives inside Sansa, Brienne came to see her; invited her to return the favour. 

Brienne is not extraverted and charming like Margaery or even quietly stylish and calm like the more reserved Jeyne. Brienne is clumsy and shy and – utterly refreshing. Though she’s clearly a nervous person, tripping over her words and entirely unsure of how to make smalltalk, Sansa can’t help but feel almost _safe_ around her. Maybe it’s just the glamour – after all, it tamed her wolf, and god knows that anyone capable of that must have strong magic indeed. But Sansa remembers the way Brienne’s eyes lit up when she spoke about her boxing, training after school every day as a girl in her father’s gym. Brienne is not confident or assertive, but she _is_ strong, in more ways than one. 

As the days pass after Brienne’s unexpected visit, Sansa finds herself feeling restless. Were it closer to the full moon, the reason would be obvious, but for now, any answers elude her. Whatever it is, it leaves her tossing and turning at night, muscles tensing and thrumming with some energy she cannot name.

Her agitation does not pass unnoticed.

~

“Darling, are you feeling all right?” 

Catelyn approaches her one night after dinner, while she’s loading up the dishwasher of the more spacious kitchen they use for guests. Not Brienne, though. She’d taken Brienne to the family kitchen.

“Yes, why?” Sansa replies, banishing the stray though and straightening to face her mother, not quite meeting her eye. Her mother has always known how to read her face.

“You seem … distracted, at the moment. It’s not university, is it?”

“No,” Sansa says, and finds that she cannot continue.

“Because I know you’re on holidays right now, but I remember how I used to stress about exams for weeks even after they were over. It’s all right if you need to talk about it,” her mother presses. 

Sansa, for all that she can’t tell her mother what she doesn’t know, feels a rush of love for her, never missing the slightest pain of any of her children. She forces a smile onto her face, and it’s less difficult than she’d imagined it would be. 

“I’m fine, mum, really. Don’t worry.”

“All right,” Catelyn responds, still somewhat disbelieving. “Come here, I need a hug.” 

Sansa knows that it’s more for her benefit than her mother’s, but wraps her arms around her all the same. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to push away whatever this thing is inside of her that’s woken up, and it almost works.

It’s after nearly a week of this strange feeling, just as she’s begun mentally preparing herself to return to classes that Sansa thinks, quite out of nowhere, _I want to see her again._ Despite meeting Brienne only twice, and both times a little worse for wear … Sansa misses her. Some ingrained instinct born of her mother’s strict sense of etiquette makes her worry that Brienne would be inconvenienced by a visit. Brienne was kind to her, but does she really have the right to go harassing a near stranger with her problems? 

Yet her desire to see Brienne is stronger, reminding her that Brienne did give her the address of her father’s gym, _In case you ever want to run as a human, for once …_

And Sansa thinks, _I do._

~

The next day, Sansa feels a lot less sure of herself after having taken a trip and a half to actually get to Brienne’s gym. She’d had to cycle to the lonely country train station, wait nearly an hour for a train to take her into the city, and then cycle up what felt like endless hills to get there. She might have been able to avoid it if she’d just asked her mother for a ride, but she shies away from letting Catelyn know about Brienne. _I shouldn’t bother her_ , Sansa thinks firmly, and pretends that’s the only reason she’s avoiding introducing Catelyn to Brienne.

In any case, she’s already puffing when she arrives, and suddenly the idea of a workout seems a lot less appealing. _At least it’ll be all downhill coming back_ , she thinks gloomily. To test her patience further, the receptionist at the entrance won’t let her through without signing what Sansa’s sure are far too many forms for a simple gym membership. Especially considering Sansa’s sure she didn’t actually ask for a full membership.

She accepts it nonetheless, rationalising that she may as well if she’s going to try exhausting the wolf on a regular basis. By the time she actually enters the gym, thought, Sansa’s feeling distinctly disgruntled and resigned to having made herself come a very long way for very little reward.

Then she spots Brienne, and her heart skips a beat.

Brienne is instructing a stranger, a dark woman with a shock of platinum blonde hair and a determined expression on her face, but Sansa barely notices the blonde. She’s busy noticing with breathtaking clarity the way Brienne’s strong arms hover below the stranger’s while she lifts weights – the way Brienne’s eyebrows are drawn together in concentration – the way Brienne is baring much more skin than at any of their previous meetings. Sansa suddenly feels giddy with nerves, waves of warmth rushing over her and leaving her feeling more than a little clammy.

The blonde stranger sets the weights down, smiling at Brienne and holding her hand out to Brienne in thanks. Brienne takes it, nodding and murmuring something Sansa can’t hear, and then she looks up, eyes scanning the room with purpose. 

At that moment, her eyes catch sight of Sansa, and Sansa realises she’s been frozen in place at the entrance to the large room for far too long. She awkwardly forces her legs into moving, taking hesitant steps towards Brienne, raising a hand in greeting and smiling stiffly. 

If Brienne notices Sansa’s discomfort, it isn’t obvious – Brienne grins at her and waves back, and Sansa’s taken aback by Brienne’s unusual confidence. She had seemed so shy at Winterfell – but of course, she’s in Brienne’s territory now. Sansa remembers the way Brienne’s had face lit up talking about the gym.

“Hello,” Brienne says, sounding a little out of breath.

“Hi,” Sansa responds, uncertain how to deal with the tables being turned on her. Brienne’s self-assurance is disconcerting. _But exciting_ , whispers a voice in the back of her head.

“I take it I got the address right, then,” Sansa says, quashing the traitorous voice.

Brienne laughs. “Yes. This is my place – it’s not much, but …”

“No, no, it’s lovely,” Sansa insists, although she’d never imagined herself describing a room smelling of old sweat and stale leather as such before.

“You’re kind,” Brienne replies, smiling at her with a look in her eyes that says she knows what Sansa’s thinking. 

“Oh, I’m being so rude!” Brienne exclaims suddenly. “Come through – it’ll be more private in here,” she continues, leading Sansa into a little anteroom off the main gym. The anteroom contains more exercise equipment, but none is currently in use. There are no windows to let in the daylight, only a few fluorescent lights overhead.

Sansa is distracted from her assessment of the room as Brienne rounds on her in the smaller space.

“Did you – I mean, is there anything I can help you with, seeing as you’re here?” Brienne sounds a little more self-conscious now that they’re alone, lifting up one well-muscled arm to scratch awkwardly at the back of her head.

“Um, well … I don’t really know where to begin. I know it might sound silly, but I was just thinking – you know about my, ah, issue? I was thinking that perhaps if I tried running, or just something to tire me out each month – whatever you think would work best – maybe it could help with taming the – the, er, control issue. Maybe.” Sansa forces herself to finish her spiel and tries not to blush under the amused expression Brienne is giving her.

“That … sounds like a plan, actually,” Brienne replies.

“Really?”

“Yes, for sure! I mean, you know yourself best, so if you want to give it a shot, I’m more than willing to help. If it’s only a matter of tiring out the – uh … If it’s a matter of tiring _you_ out, I’m sure I can figure out how best to exhaust you.” 

Sansa swallows very hard and ignores the fluttering in her stomach.

“Right,” she replies, voice a tad higher pitched than usual. “Well then – if you’re not doing anything now ... Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Brienne assures her quickly. “I just finished up with Daenerys and I didn’t have any other plans this afternoon. I’m sure Jaime can take over in the main room.”

Sansa’s mouth drops open involuntarily. “Did you say – was that _Daenerys Targaryen?_ ”

“Ah. Pretend I didn’t say that. This is supposed to be a celebrity safe zone, it’s part of our appeal.” Brienne blushes.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Sansa explains hastily. “Actually, she’s sort of a distant relative. I mean – we’ve never met, but my cousin Jon is her nephew, technically – well. It’s a long story. I just didn’t realise she goes … here.” Today is really not Sansa’s day for stumbling, awkward monologuing. 

“You’re related?” Brienne sounds surprised. “Huh. Small world, I guess.”

“Yeah.” 

_Oh, spirits, not too small … **Please**_ , she thinks, stomach churning as she suddenly remembers Brienne mentioning Sandor Clegane’s name the last time they’d met. Clegane had been Joffrey’s bodyguard, once. Sansa had thought that the man had little loyalty to the brat under his protection, but … Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea coming here after all. 

“Well, if you’re ready to go now then, let’s do it!” Sansa is broken out of her reverie by Brienne’s enthusiastic voice. _No. This is going to be a good thing_ , she insists to herself.

Plastering on the heartiest smile she can manage, Sansa dumps her bag on the ground and folds her hands together. “Right. What did you have in mind, then?”

Brienne is indeed as confident and excited about fitness as she appears, since it takes a good hour for them to finish discussing which exercises Sansa should attempt, and run through a number of stretches until Brienne deems Sansa ready to begin on one of the terrifying-looking contraptions in the room.

After two hours of Brienne’s instruction and introduction to the various equipment and more theories of fitness than Sansa had thought existed, Sansa is thoroughly spent and ready to go home. Her relief at the session finishing is cut short when she remembers how long it’s going to take her to get home. Unable to stifle a groan at the thought, Sansa feels Brienne’s arm on her shoulder as she stops her at the door.

“What is it? Is it a muscle? Did you pull something?” Brienne’s concern is touching and makes Sansa feel a little like melting, although that might be the physical exhaustion’s influence.

“No, no, nothing like that. I just remembered I cycled halfway here, and the trains are always slow on Sundays.”

“You _cycled_ here?” Brienne sounds horrified.

“Only halfway,” Sans adds hastily, automatically downplaying the embarrassing efforts she’d gone to to see Brienne.

“You should have told me! Oh, Sansa – if I’d known, I’d’ve never pushed you that hard on your first go.”

Sansa waves a hand at Brienne and makes a dismissive noise, already feeling humiliated at how the light session had left her sore all over.

“Let me give you a lift home,” Brienne says, looking determined.

“Oh, spirits – I couldn’t ask that of you, really. And I’ve got my bike to consider, your car is too small, surely. I’ll be fine,” Sansa says, mentally hitting herself for bringing up the bike in the first place – Brienne’s already doing too much for her.

“I’ll pull the back seat down. Honestly,” Brienne insists, “It’s getting dark now. It’s nearly five, and we close early on Sundays anyway. Jaime can take care of it. Really.”

Sansa wants to insist that she can cycle back herself, but she remembers how comforting it had been to ride alongside Brienne the first time they’d met, watching the morning sun rising over the hills, just as it is beginning to set now. She hadn’t realised she’d stayed so late.

Sansa must pause a moment too long, because Brienne takes her silence as confirmation of her inability to make it back before dark in her current state.

“Please let me do this for you,” Brienne says quietly, and Sansa’s sure she must be imagining how personal – how endearingly earnest – the statement sounds.

“All right, all right. But I’m definitely not letting this happen again,” Sansa says, already knowing that Brienne is the kind of person who will never let her cycle home in the dark and that it will surely happen again as long as Sansa continues to not let Catelyn know where she’s going.

Brienne ducks her head and smiles shyly, and Sansa suddenly feels an ache in her chest. _There are good people_ , she thinks. The thought rises unbidden from somewhere deep in her heart. A place almost forgotten, somewhere she thought she’d abandoned many years ago.

Brienne drives Sansa home in near silence, the setting sun illuminating her face in shades of pink and gold. The silence is a blessing, companionable where in Sansa’s experience silences are usually painful or stilted. As Brienne assists her in pulling the bicycle out from the boot of the car at the bottom of Winterfell’s driveway, Sansa happens to meet her eyes in the now-fading light. Though the world is fading greyly into darkness, Brienne’s eyes are just as blue and bright now as they’d been when Sansa first saw them.

“Well. Good night, Brienne,” Sansa murmurs, taking care to speak quietly so as not to break the spell.

“Good night, Sansa. I’ll see you later in the week, then?” Brienne’s look is hopeful.

Sansa nods and gives one final wave before pushing her bike up the driveway. When she reaches the door, having parked her bike by the porch, she turns back to see Brienne smiling up at her and nodding once before easing the car around and turning back the way they came. The night has fallen fully now, but Sansa keeps her eyes trained on the lights of Brienne’s car as it fades into a speck in the distance, finally winking out as it dips below a hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be lying if I said this chapter wasn't influenced by a text post on tumblr expounding on the many benefits of a Captain Phasma weightlifting scene in the next Star Wars film, TBH. In any case, I'm sure we can all appreciate a woman with muscles, right?


	9. In which our heroines' plan goes awry.

Jaime’s grin when Brienne shows up to work the next day can only be described as _shit-eating_.

“Don’t,” she warns as she unlocks the door, juggling the keys with a set of steaming coffee cups that Jaime promptly avails her of.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jaime replies, wisely choosing that moment to sip at the steaming coffee before making a horrified face as it burns his tongue.

“Good,” mutters Brienne, but when she tries to give him a stern look as she pushes the door open for him, the mixture of unrestrained glee and an attempt to cover up how badly he had underestimated the temperature of the coffee on his face is just enough to make her smile.

As they enter and begin switching on lights and adjusting the ever-present air conditioning necessary for a gym full of sweaty bodies, Jaime elbows her, hand still clutching the coffee she’d brought.

“Come on. Tell me everything.”

“It didn’t mean anything. She just needs to train here – werewolf stuff, she needs to be worn out.”

“Oh I’ll bet you’ll _wear her out_ all right,” Jaime says, waggling his eyebrows in an excessive manner.

“Spirits, you’re such a twelve-year-old boy sometimes,” Brienne groans, rolling her eyes.

“You wound me.”

“You’ll recover.”

Jaime continues to pester her for details about her “date” with Sansa, acting mortally offended that he hadn’t even known about Brienne’s visit to Winterfell a week ago, despite having advised her in the first place.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you where I was going,” Brienne replies, and dodges a light punch on the arm. Still, she feels almost giddy with joy and silly enough to indulge Jaime’s ridiculous teasing.

Within the hour, however, regulars begin trickling in, the kind of dedicated people who are either professional athletes or nine-to-five office workers desperate for an endorphin rush before hours of sedentary work. Brienne is soon occupied with ensuring that the Tyrell boy doesn’t overexert himself again in an attempt to impress Baratheon, who he still hasn’t gotten up the courage to speak to yet. Before he gets up to leave, about half an hour later, Brienne touches his arm to get his attention, and he stares at her with wide brown eyes.

“You should talk to him, Loras. Trust me,” she says, smiling.

When he doesn’t reply, but continues to stare, Brienne realises suddenly that the morning sun has filled the room and is shining on her face.

More specifically, her eyes.

Letting loose a stream of swear words inside her head that would make a sailor blush, Brienne immediately gets to work on releasing Loras from her accidental hypnotism, accidentally ruining Loras’ chances in the meantime as Baratheon leaves before she’s done.

~

Despite Brienne’s seemingly inexhaustible love of exercise testing Sansa’s limits both physically and mentally, Sansa finds herself oddly content over the next two weeks. It’s not that her body doesn’t protest, considering the utterly inactive lifestyle she leads when she’s not giving in to the wolf. And it’s certainly not that Sansa’s able to forget why she’s there – the thought that her wolf might actually bow to her will for once is all the motivation she needs to push herself.

It’s something about that way that Brienne’s voice softens towards the end of their thrice-weekly sessions, understanding that Sansa’s tired and struggling to continue. It’s the way Brienne, despite her incredible height and size, despite the strength with which she could probably carry Sansa around one handed if she really tried, is one of the gentlest people Sansa’s ever met. It’s not only in her faerie blood, which still leaves Sansa aching to stare into her eyes for hours on end. There is a kindness inherent in Brienne’s very nature. It’s in the patient guidance she exhibits with newcomers to the gym, like the shy and skinny young Baratheon girl, Shireen, who shows up with her anxious father in tow, determined to learn self defence. Brienne reassures her father and even promises to call the girl’s mother after every lesson to let her know what Shireen has learnt. It’s in the way Brienne never loses her temper, never even close – the most irritation she ever displays is with Jaime … Jaime, whom Sansa avoids at all costs, once she learns his surname …

Yet as gentle as Brienne is, Sansa cannot deny that she is nervous as two weeks pass and the full moon draws near. Doubts creep in, and the tension she carries, constantly, in her shoulders and neck and most certainly the pinched expression on her face, do not pass without comment.

At what may be Sansa’s final gym session with Brienne before the next full moon, while she’s sweating profusely on a stationary exercise bike trying with all her might to exorcise the demon inside her, Brienne finally brings it up.

“Sansa,” she says, so softly that Sansa’s breath suddenly hitches. “It’s only a couple of nights away now.”

Struggling to swallow past the lump in her throat, Sansa nods, tersely. There is an unbearable knot in her belly, no less than a hurricane of noise in her head. She feels sick. _If I don’t talk about it, I don’t have to think about it._

“You know … I mean, you don’t have to …” Brienne huffs, as if annoyed with herself. Sansa bites back waspish words that she wants to snap at Brienne, knowing that the fear which makes her irritable only ever makes things worse.

“What I’m trying to say is that … If you wanted … I could do it again.”

Sansa freezes.

~

Oh spirits, she’s completely mucked it up.

Brienne had thought about it long and hard. The weeks had passed, flying by faster than she’d ever imagined time could. Sansa had come every couple of days, insisting on taking the train and her bike to get to the gym, but had always accepted the offer of a ride back, when Brienne could afford to give it. She had worked hard. Despite the softness of her skin and the slight plumpness of her body (and _gods above and below_ , Sansa has the most beautiful curves, despite the nasty part of Brienne that mutters about how perverted she is for noticing,) Sansa is no delicate flower. She trains as hard as Brienne will let her, in everything – cardio, strength, flexibility … whatever will tire her the most that day. In all, Sansa has thrown herself into the plan with commendable aplomb.

Except that Brienne thinks the plan isn’t actually going to work.

It’s not that Sansa isn’t exhausted at the end of every session. She is. And it’s a good kind of tired, one that comes from a flood of endorphins and a job well done. Brienne sees the pleased flush in her cheeks and the sweat rolling down her neck, and always gruffly congratulates her before hurrying her away to get changed.

But this kind of training seems to only be making Sansa, well … fitter. She’s probably always going to be plump, with a soft pouch on her stomach and round hips. Brienne can tell that Sansa’s weaknesses are only a result of her sedentary – and solitary – lifestyle. She’s only going to end up building muscle and needing to push herself harder to truly exhaust herself, and Brienne can’t help but think that’s not what Sansa wants, pushing herself to her absolute limit every other day until she collapses.

No, what Sansa wants is a way to control the wolf. Not strengthen it. Not push it further as she pushes herself. _Control_. Like the way Brienne had tamed it, the first time they met.

Which brings her to now.

“Sansa? Oh, spirits. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Brienne can see Sansa thinking it over, schooling her face into a carefully controlled mask of polite indifference, even while she’s flushed and panting slightly from the exercise bike. Brienne wonders where she learnt to do that.

“It’s all right,” Sansa murmurs, as if in a dream.

Brienne waits, silently. Finally, Sansa turns to face her.

“That night … Brienne, you have to tell me every last detail of what you did and how I – how the wolf reacted. Every last thing, before I agree to this. Please.”

“All right, sure. Whatever you need, Sansa,” Brienne says, in as reassuring a voice as she can muster.

Sansa steps off the bike.

“Let’s go somewhere private.”

~

Brienne takes her to a quiet room near the back of the building that Sansa’s never seen before, but which can only be the main office. It’s a little dusty, clearly underused. The blinds at the tiny window behind the desk crammed into the space are closed, leaving only the neon bulb above to illuminate Brienne’s concerned face. She ushers Sansa into a chair, pulling the desk chair around in order to sit closer to her. When they’re both settled, the silence stretches, awkwardly, and Sansa is reminded of that second meeting in the family kitchen. Eventually, though, Brienne clears her throat, a clear signal that Sansa may ask whatever she pleases – and to hurry it along before they both get embarrassed.

Sansa steels herself.

“The morning after, you said you’d hypnotised me, that it was a faerie thing. What … what exactly does that mean?”

Brienne pauses, taking a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Erm, well. It’s really hard to explain, because it only ever really happens by accident.” She hesitates, an expression on her face startlingly close to shame.

“Please, Brienne,” Sansa says, wanting so much to hope.

Brienne frowns to herself, seeming to berate herself for not immediately leaping to explain herself to Sansa.

“Right, sorry. Well, like I said, it only ever happens by accident. I swore a long time ago I’d never use the whole … mind control aspect of my glamour for anything less that self defence. Even then, I mean, I’m a boxer, so it’s really the very last line of defence –”

Sansa almost smiles. Of course Brienne would never misuse the most powerful magic at her disposal. That would be too easy, too selfish.

“– But basically, if I don’t pay attention to it one hundred percent of the time, it still happens. Especially if someone looks into my eyes. They’re basically the only part of me that actually looks faerie. But I guess that’s obvious,” Brienne continues, looking uncomfortable as the conversation turns towards her looks.

Sansa’s a little surprised – Brienne isn’t conventionally feminine or pretty, perhaps, but kindness and strength radiate out of her like sunshine. And then there’s her muscular frame, which –

“Not really,” Sansa blurts out, blushing as soon as she says it. Brienne raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and Sansa winces internally. “I mean. You’re not – you’re actually very – you do have very beautiful eyes, though.” Sansa wants to die just a little in that moment.

There are a few seconds where Brienne doesn’t seem to know where to look.

“Er. Thank you.”

“No problem,” says Sansa, feeling a wave of heat crashing over her cheekbones and struggling not to close her eyes in humiliation.

“Anyway, erm. The whole … hypnotism deal is really just a simple way of saying that I involuntarily make magical waves designed to calm and forcibly subdue anyone the immediate vicinity who happens to catch my eye. The only way to un-hypnotise someone is to … is to go into their mind and consciously release them with a spell. It’s … very invasive. And I’m forced to make humans forget what happened on top of that. So you can see why I don’t like doing it.”

Sansa’s eyes have widened over the course of Brienne’s explanation. Put like that, it seems very … uncomfortable. Something occurs to her about breaking the spell. _Go into their mind_ …

“So – did you do that to me? Go into my mind?” Sansa can’t help the edge of panic that enters her voice, her mind already racing with images and memories she never wants anyone to see.

“No! No, actually – we. We fell asleep. I sat with you for ages, just patting y- the wolf’s fur. It was … warmer that way, and safer. I was afraid to turn my back in case the magic broke, though, well, it never really has before. When we woke up, it was over,” says Brienne, shrugging. “I suppose that adds one more method for breaking the spell to the list: fall asleep.”

Sansa smiles at that. “I take it that’s the only opportunity you’ve had to explore that route, then?”

Brienne smiles back. “Not until I had a gigantic puppy on my hands, no.”

An incredulous expression passes over Sansa’s face before she can stop it. A gigantic puppy, indeed.

“Yes, well. No one who’s ever encountered the wolf has ever called it a puppy, before you.” Brienne looks almost sheepish, and Sansa hurries to explain. “No, no, see – most people who’ve seen the wolf run away screaming blue murder, and for good reason. But to you, it’s – docile. Tame, even. I just … it seems so incredible that something I’ve been terrified of my whole life can be so easily taken care of. It doesn’t seem real.”

“I … suppose so,” Brienne replies, looking troubled.

“I know you’ve said you don’t like doing it, Brienne. You’ve already done so much for me –”

Brienne opens her mouth to interrupt her, but Sansa holds up her hand.

“No, please, let me speak, please. We’ve only known each other hardly a month, but I trust you. I swear I do. But … you know how out of control my magic is. When you hypnotise people, you can fix it. Me, I don’t have that power. I can’t control the wolf. My form of magic is wild. It’s – Brienne, it’s so beyond my power. It scares me, so much.” Sansa, to her horror, has to stop there as a lump forms in her throat, and Brienne makes a soft noise, reaching out for her hand. She takes Sansa’s soft hand in her own slowly, as if Sansa is a wounded animal she doesn’t want to startle. Brienne has strong, capable hands, but they hold Sansa’s with infinite gentleness. They are hands that Sansa trusts to handle the wolf.

Sansa takes a deep breath.

“Brienne, if we do this … you have to be safe. We got away with it once, but that’s no guarantee it’ll work again. You have to promise me, the second you feel unsure, you leave. Magic yourself away if you can. I can’t let the wolf hurt you, I would never forgive myself. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Brienne says solemnly, eyes wide as they stare into Sansa’s own. “Sansa, I swear on it. I won’t let you hurt me. I swear it.”

And, staring back at her, Sansa really believes it. A tentative smile works its way into the corners of her mouth.

“All right,” she says softly. “All right. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day I update a fic within a few weeks of the last update is the day Hell freezes over. I am so sorry.


	10. In Which Arya Gives Brienne the Shovel Talk

_This is a terrible idea_ , Sansa thinks, wincing away from Arya’s shocked face.

 

“Okay. So. Let me get this straight. You met some faerie on the last full moon who by some miracle managed to avoid being murdered by your wolf, she drove you home – which, I mean, I can’t believe you got away with that – and you’ve been training with her the past month so that she can hypnotise the wolf again tomorrow night?!”

 

“… Well of course it sounds stupid when you say it like _that_ ,” Sansa replies a little defensively.

 

Arya crosses her arms and raises a singular eyebrow, making it quite clear without words that Sansa has more explaining to do. Sansa thumps her head down on her arms, folded across the kitchen table, instead.

 

“Sansa. What the _fuck_ ,” says Arya, lowering her voice on the last word in case their mother passes by.

 

“Arya, _please_. You said I needed to try to figure something out, right? Well we already know it worked once, why not try again?” Sansa pleads.

 

“No! I said you need to try practising! Not – not getting some random faerie involved in the hopes that you both get lucky and she can hypnotise you before the wolf has a chance to rip her throat out!”

 

Sansa flinches back at Arya’s words, but Arya’s already clapped a hand over her mouth.

 

“Oh spirits. I’m – Sansa, can we pretend I never – I’m so sorry,” she stutters out.

 

Sansa shakes her head in response, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment.

 

“I know … I know I haven’t exactly been helpful trying to find a solution to all of this. And I know I’ve failed as a pack leader. I know I’m the one meant to be rounding up Bran and Rickon when Robb and Jon and Dad are away. You’ve been a better leader for this pack than I ever could be,” Sansa says, holding up a hand as Arya tries to interrupt. “No. Don’t argue. We both know I’ve failed. And we both know why. So please just … let me try this. Brienne’s done it before, and I trust her. I need to do this, Arya. I don’t want to hurt anyone again,” she finishes, feeling the tiniest bit of pride that her voice didn’t break.

 

Sansa can see the battle happening in Arya’s head as plain as day on her face, but eventually, some lingering sense of guilt over her earlier comment must win out, because she simply sighs and shakes her head.

 

“All right, fine. Okay. It’s your life. But I want to meet her!” Arya says, attempting to be stern.

 

Sansa considers it. On the one hand, it’s totally reasonable for Arya to want to meet the faerie who’s going to be in charge of keeping Sansa safe at her most vulnerable and uncontrollable, especially considering the fact that Arya is pack leader in all but name. On the other hand … On the other hand, Sansa feels slightly nervous about Arya meeting Brienne, for some reason she can’t identify. Brienne is ... gentle. And strong. What if Arya thinks Brienne is no good as a safeguard? What if she thinks Brienne is _too_ strong and doesn’t trust her to keep Sansa safe?

 

Sansa must hesitate too long, because Arya clicks her fingers in front of Sansa’s face, demanding attention.

 

“Sansa. I want to meet her. Seriously.”

 

“Okay,” Sansa says, relenting despite her uncertainty. “I'll get her to come over tomorrow an hour or so before sunset. You can suss her out then, do your ridiculous werewolf posturing.”

 

“Hey! It’s not ridiculous! And for the sake of all the spirits Sansa, you’re a bloody werewolf too so don’t pretend you don’t feel the same damn instincts,” Arya grumbles.

 

Sansa snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Instincts. I’ve always been good at them, haven’t I?”

 

Arya puts an arm around her and half heartedly attempts to muss her hair. “You’re getting there. This is progress, right? I mean it’s still absolutely mad and I can’t believe you dragged a random faerie you don’t even know that well into this mess, but still. Worth a short. I guess.”

 

Arya sounds more doubtful by the second, and it’s doing nothing for Sansa’s nerves. But she can see her sister’s putting in an effort.

 

“Thanks, Arya,” she sighs, leaning her head against her shoulder for a moment. They sit there, contemplating the silence for several seconds before Arya turns to her.

 

“Okay. Time to call her.”

 

Sansa opens her mouth to protest, feeling vaguely as though she might curl up in a corner and die if her sister talks to her – to Brienne, but Arya shushes her with a single pointed finger and a stern frown. She holds out her palm silently and Sansa fumbles to hand over her phone with a groan.

 

Arya scrolls through her contact list before settling in the B’s and pressing the call button, setting it to speakerphone. Sansa imagines several creative ways to jump out of the nearest window, but it’s too late, the phone’s ringing and oh spirits in all the realms, _Brienne is answering_.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Brienne! Hello! This is Arya, Sansa’s sister, here. I want to know your intentions,” Arya says cheerfully, before Sansa punches her in the arm. Arya flinches and moves away, still holding the phone firmly in her other hand.

 

“My – my intentions?” Brienne says, sounding a little high pitched. “Erm, is this – are you giving me the shovel talk? Because if you are, I – I mean, Sansa and I, we aren’t – that is to say …”

 

“All right, calm down, I was just messing with you,” Arya says, rolling her eyes.

 

“Arya, for pity’s sake!” Sansa can’t help but cry out.

 

“Oh, is that you, Sansa?” Brienne says on the other end of the phone, sounding relieved.

 

“Yes, I’m so sorry. My sister insisted upon calling you herself. I told her about – about the plan.” Sansa grimaces at the mention of it, but that is why they called …

 

“Yes, she did. And I have to say I think you’re both bloody mad,” Arya interjects sternly.

 

“I see,” Brienne says, and even through the phone Sansa can tell she’s feeling uncomfortable.

 

“But I told her, it’s the best plan we’ve got. And I trust you,” Sansa adds hopefully.

 

“It worked out once before. I mean, we talked about it … If things start to go belly-up, my car will be nearby, and I can … well it’s this sort of trick, where I disappear in one place and reappear in another. I don’t do it often because it’s a bit of a pain to get right and I can only travel short distances, but I’m fairly sure I could outrun a wolf with it.”

 

Arya looks somewhat mollified at that.

 

Sansa eagerly agrees with Brienne. “See, I told you. We did it once before and we were both fine, otherwise we wouldn’t even think of trying it. And Brienne’s really good at magic, I’ve seen her,” Sansa adds, though that is not technically true. Brienne almost never performs magic in front of her, too afraid of hypnotising her. But Arya does not need to know that.

 

“Well … if you really are as good at magic as Sansa says …”

 

“If nothing else I really _am_ good with glamour,” Brienne says, sensing victory on the horizon.

 

Arya groans and flops forward onto the table, before sighing deeply.

 

“Ugh. All right. But I want to meet up on the day, make sure I can keep the young ones far away during the transformation,” Arya says. It is in moments like these that Sansa feels the full weight of Arya’s position as leader of the pack. She will always be older than Arya, but when it comes to wolf matters … Arya will always trump her.

 

“Anything you need, Arya,” Sansa promises, while Brienne makes a noise of agreement over the phone.

 

“Then it’s settled,” Arya confirms. “Full moon, tomorrow night. Brienne, you can drive up in the afternoon and we’ll get acquainted and figure out where to situate the two of you for the transformation. And the boys’ll want to meet you too, so best prepare for that onslaught.”

 

“Sure,” Brienne says, a little more eager than Sansa expected.

 

“See you then, Brienne,” Sansa adds, before Arya can hang up abruptly, as is her wont nowadays.

 

“See you then,” Brienne replies, and Arya hangs up.

 

Sansa cannot help smiling at her, despite the nerves still causing her stomach to ache a little.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Arya grumbles. Sansa puts her head down on her arms beside her and doesn’t say a word. Arya sighs again.

 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, sis,” she says in a troubled tone of voice.

 

“I do,” Sansa says, with more conviction than she feels.

 

They sit like that for a few more minutes before Arya wanders off to check up on Rickon and make sure he isn’t currently running feral about the woods this close to the full moon. Sansa simply stays where she is, allowing herself for once to feel the effects of the approaching full moon. Her body trembles slightly when she pays attention to it, like it had once many years ago when she’d been sick with a stomach bug and spent the night on the cold bathroom floor, only to crawl back into bed and be wracked with shivers as her body began to warm back up. There’s a light sweat on her forehead and under her arms which will not leave, and if she closes her eyes and listens, she can almost hear the forest call, as if it is a physical thing her ears can perceive.

 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she will discover whether this thing inside her can be tamed. Until then, she will wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo ALMOST made me a productive writer! Wow!


	11. In Which Secrets Are Revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: body horror/injuries. Detailed description in end notes.

Brienne is waiting outside the door to the Stark mansion and she is completely, utterly terrified. Not of the wolf, if she’s honest with herself. Of Sansa.

 

Because Sansa is beautiful, and kind-hearted, and soft, and Brienne is slightly hysterical at the thought that she might possibly be a little infatuated with her. On top of that, she’s going to be meeting Arya Stark, whose actions seem to be more in line with the cliché older brother than the nagging little sister. Not to mention that Sansa does have older brothers who Brienne hasn’t met, because they’re both away at a far more prestigious university than Sansa attends. God knows what will happen when she meets _them_.

 

Oh well. No other choice now. Brienne raises her hand and knocks, harder than she intends to.

 

Bran is nowhere in sight when the door opens this time, only Arya, who is frowning in an unimpressed manner at the sight of her.

 

“You must be Brienne,” she says, with an arched eyebrow.

 

“That’s me,” Brienne confirms, shifting from foot to foot with nerves.

 

“Hmm,” Arya replies, taking a moment to narrow her eyes at Brienne. Despite the fact that Brienne has at least a foot and a half on her, it unsettles her. “You’d better come in,” she says, opening the door wide.

 

Just as Brienne steps in, however, there is a crashing noise near the wide staircase that leads into the entrance hall, and Sansa comes skidding around the corner, having bashed her elbow on the corner of the upper level wall. She grimaces and rubs it but continues to rush down the stairs, seeming to concentrate on not falling, before finally reaching the lower floor and looking up to see her sister and Brienne staring at her.

 

“Ah, hello,” she says, looking flustered. “I was just – uh, I heard the door, but I was just getting dressed.” She shuffles forward a little awkwardly to stand beside Arya.

 

“Applying make-up, more like. I don’t see the point on the full moon, Sansa, honestly. This is the first time you’ve done it in ages, too,” Arya says, as Sansa’s blush deepens.

 

“That’s all right,” Brienne interjects hastily. There is … something different in Sansa’s face, truth be told, or maybe it’s her hair, unbound in waves over her shoulders. She really is _very_ pretty.

 

“Well, it’s done now. So, we can talk about where to go for … tonight,” Sansa says, subtly elbowing Arya in the side.

 

“Right you are, sis.”

 

They gather together in the living room to discuss where to go, Sansa politely offering tea that Brienne declines while Arya looks on in mild disgust. Brienne tries to ignore her, and the creeping sense of shame she sometimes gets when other people notice the way she acts around Sansa.

 

When they are all settled together in the room, Arya having unsubtly inserted herself between Sansa and Brienne on the couch, the conversation begins.

 

“Right. Sansa, do you have any idea where you might want to transform?” Arya says without preamble.

 

Sansa jumps to attention. “Yes, um. A few. Last time Brienne and I sort of just – met by chance. Down by that huge old willow near the river. I don’t think I want to go back there – it’s too close to the town, to people. I think we need to head in the opposite direction.”

 

“Good point,” Arya says, humming to herself in thought. “So, far away enough that you won’t attack any random people, but close enough that Brienne can have a way out if things get hairy.”

 

“Actually, you can go as far away as you need. Like I said, the sort-of-teleportation thing I can do means I can travel large distances if I need to,” Brienne interjects.

 

Arya narrows her eyes and hums unconvinced once more, but Sansa looks impressed. “I didn’t get much of a chance to say last night – it really is incredible how you can do that.”

 

Brienne feels a little giddy with Sansa’s approving attention on her. “Oh, well. I mean, I just. It’s not – you know, it’s just a thing I can do,” she stammers, before wishing she could crawl under a rock to escape herself.

 

“Well, I think it’s amazing,” Sansa says, leaning her face on her hand and smiling.

 

Brienne really can’t be blamed if she stares a little at Sansa’s smile.

 

“… Anyway,” Arya says abruptly, breaking the silence.

 

“Right, yes. Um,” Sansa says, sounding a little flustered. “I thought maybe I could head north this time, instead of south, like we usually do. That way we can stay out of your way too.”

 

Arya considers Sansa’s suggestion for a moment before turning to Brienne. “Brienne. What do you think?”

 

“Sounds fine to me,” Brienne replies honestly.

 

“Well, that’s settled then. You two can head up the northern road in the next half hour or so, the sun’ll be setting soon so I wouldn’t waste time.”

 

“Of course,” Brienne says, while Sansa nods.

 

“There’s one more thing, though. And I don’t think either of you are going to like it,” Arya says, adopting a much more serious tone of voice than the relaxed tone she had been using before.

 

Brienne feels a prickle of fear on her neck, a warning her that something bad is coming. It’s not her mother’s gift that gives her such instincts – they have always been her father’s.

 

“What is it?” Sansa says, looked bewildered.

 

Arya purses her lips before answering. “I want to know that Brienne is capable of what she says she is. I want to see her hypnotise someone.”

 

Brienne has stood before she realises what she’s doing. “ _No_ ,” she says, choked.

 

Arya arches an eyebrow. “Why? You’re going to do it tonight anyway.”

 

“It’s one thing to use glamours against a beast that is actively trying to kill me, it’s another to hypnotise a human being. I never, never do it on purpose.” There are angry tears beginning to well in Brienne’s eyes, and she clenches her fists.

 

“Or you can’t do it on command,” Arya says tensely.

 

“How can you – you have no _idea_ –”

 

“You’re right, I don’t. So _show me_ ,” Arya spits back.

 

“I can do it.” Sansa’s voice pipes up, distracting them both from their anger.

 

She is biting her lip, looking at Brienne with determination in her eyes.

 

“Sansa, I couldn’t ask – it’s a violation. I told you,” Brienne says, pained.

 

“I know you did. You told me you can switch it on automatically, but have to extract yourself manually. I get it,” Sansa says, voice strengthening with her growing conviction.

 

“No, you don’t. I hate it, I hate doing it. I always have to make them forget, it feels like I’m drugging them.” The tears finally spill at that admission.

 

“Then don’t let me forget,” Sansa says softly.

 

Arya clears her throat. Brienne had forgotten she was in the room, the reason for all of this.

 

“It’s up to Sansa. But if you don’t do this, just know that there is no way in hell I’m letting you near the wolf,” Arya says. “And that’s final.”

 

Brienne looks to Sansa in desperation, but that determined look is still in her eyes. Brienne forces herself to stop from looking too long. She groans and savagely wipes away her tears with more force than is necessary.

 

“Fine. For Sansa’s sake,” she says. Arya inclines her head.

 

“Where …?” Sansa asks, looking awkward now that the plan is set in place.

 

“Just – sit down on the couch. People have been known to faint,” Brienne says, wincing as she does. Arya throws her a sharp look, but Sansa obediently sits upon the couch, looking up at her expectantly.

 

Brienne hastens to sit beside her, swallowing nervously.

 

“All right. Okay. Let’s do this,” she says, pretending that she’s not stalling.

 

“Let’s,” Arya says, in a hard voice.

 

“Arya,” Sansa says softly, but with warning evident in her tone.

 

Arya mimes zipping her mouth shut.

 

Brienne turns to face Sansa, and finds her staring right back, exactly where she ought to be. Brienne clenches and unclenches her fists one last time before looking up, directly into Sansa’s eyes.

 

Brienne has never let herself examine Sansa’s eyes too carefully before, a force of habit to stop herself from constantly hypnotising everyone around her. Sansa’s eyes are ice-blue, the palest shade she’s even seen. Brienne hardly has a moment to appreciate their beauty, but then the black begins to eclipse the blue, and Brienne knows that Sansa is under her spell.

 

Brienne looks away, at Arya, guilt already rising in her throat. “It’s done.”

 

Arya frowns. “Are you sure?”

 

Brienne clenches her teeth and stands, walking around the couch, Sansa’s head turning to follow her like a fascinated puppy.

 

“Sansa, stand up, please,” Brienne says, in as gentle a voice as she can muster, swallowing her humiliation and her anger at Arya.

 

Sansa stands, arms hanging uselessly at her sides, mouth a little slack. “Walk around the room once. And then do three jumping jacks.”

 

Sansa obeys, Brienne feeling sick the entire time. Arya lets out a low whistle as Sansa completes her instructions, coming to stand close to Brienne, staring at her with intense devotion that Brienne wishes she could ignore.

 

“And she’ll only obey you?” Arya asks.

 

“Yes,” Brienne snaps.

 

“Sansa … erm, I don’t know, jump up and down,” Arya says, but Sansa of course pays no attention to her.

 

“Please let me let her go now. You’ve got your proof,” Brienne says, a note of desperation creeping into her tone.

 

“… That I have,” Arya says, in a troubled voice.

 

_Good. Maybe she’s finally starting to understand why this is a last resort_ , Brienne thinks.

 

“Okay, let her go.”

 

Brienne takes a deep breath and steps closer to Sansa, though she is already very near, the strength of the glamour compelling her to be close to Brienne. Brienne lifts her left hand to the side of Sansa’s cheek, cupping it as gently as she can, while she raises the right to Sansa’s heart. Here comes the unpleasant part.

 

She looks into Sansa’s heart and mind as one, and what she sees nearly floors her.

 

A terrible pain, an old wound from years ago wreaks havoc across Sansa’s emotions. It bleeds sluggishly even after all these years. The wolf is intertwined with it, an intimate swirl of blood and fur and teeth – it growls, aware that Brienne is near, is dangerous. But then it submits, rolling onto its back and looking away, above. Sansa’s human half does not react to Brienne’s presence, but that’s no surprise – most humans have no idea when Brienne does this. Only the wolf, the magic part, recognises her for what she is, even it is still submits in the end.

 

It’s the novelty of connecting on such a level with a werewolf that does it, Brienne thinks. A new experience, with new variables to be accounted for. She doesn’t mean to do it, but as the wolf lays down, she reaches out to it as if to calm it – and instead is thrown head-first into a maelstrom of Sansa’s memories.

 

Sansa’s childhood is dizzyingly happy, a shouting, excitable family of many children making all her memories bright and quick. Her parents stand like steady rocks throughout it all, stable and warm. But soon, sooner that Brienne would like, the wound seeps in. A wound which takes the shape of a golden boy, a boy barely older than Sansa herself, yet infinitely crueller. Brienne watches as he courts Sansa like something out of a story book, kissing her hand, telling her how beautiful she is. She watches as Sansa and her family come to stay with him and his vicious mother and his drunken father. She watches as Sansa transforms, for the very first time, not thirteen years old, and the wolf which can smell the violence of the boy begins to stalk him that night. Begins to hunt him, scent him on the breeze, safe inside his family’s mansion. But not for long.

 

Brienne watches as the wolf entices him out, a stupidly confident and curious boy. It nearly kills him, tearing through his shoulder and going for his neck, stopped only by the implicit authority of three older wolves, wolves who still feel their human halves – Sansa’s father, and the two older brothers, who Brienne has never met. They snap and growl, forcing Sansa’s wolf away into the forest. Away, where Sansa will awaken alone and scared, naked and vulnerable, in the harsh mountains of the Stormlands. Only twelve years old.

 

Brienne has seen too much, and remembering her promise to Sansa to not allow her to forget, feels sickened with herself. She must free Sansa. Now.

 

“Sansa Stark, I release you,” she chokes out, snatching back her hands as Sansa comes too, the vacant expression in her eyes replacing itself with fear.

 

No sooner has Brienne taken her hands off Sansa, though, than she opens her mouth as if to speak – but crumples to the floor instead.

 

“Sansa!” Arya and Brienne cry out in unison. Brienne only just manages to leap forward and stop Sansa from falling all the way to the floor, grasping at her shoulder and throwing her other arm around Sansa’s back to redirect her to the couch instead.

 

“What did you do to her?” Arya asks frantically, coming to kneel beside Brienne in front of the couch.

 

“Nothing! Nothing, I just – I think she fainted because she can remember what I did. Usually I take their memories, and they’re none the wiser. But she remembers what I saw, what I did. I think – it must have been overwhelming,” Brienne says, theorising aloud in desperation.

 

“Did this happen last time?”

 

“No, no. She was a wolf last time. The wolf just submitted and went with it and when we woke up the next morning she was human again.”

 

Sansa’s eyes begin to blink open at that second. Before she has the chance to speak, Arya rushes forward and hugs Sansa tightly with a cry. Brienne hovers awkwardly while Arya squeezes the living daylights out of Sansa.

 

“Are you all right? Did she hurt you?” Arya asks, and Brienne tries not to be hurt. It really couldn’t have looked good from Arya’s perspective.

 

“I’m fine, Arya, but I can’t breathe,” Sansa says in a strained voice. Arya swears and lets go immediately. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

 

Sansa doesn’t look at Brienne. She knows what Brienne saw.

 

Brienne is fairly certain that Sansa absolutely hates her now.

 

Not that Brienne was ever in with a chance anyway.

 

“Let me up, I just fainted. It’s happened before,” Sansa grumbles in Arya’s ear. “We need to go soon anyway.”

 

Arya makes a low growling noise, somewhat more animalistic than a human would be capable of. It’s protective instinct, Brienne knows, but it still makes the hairs on her arms stand up. Arya stands.

 

“We’ll take my car,” Brienne says quietly, shrinking in on herself as Sansa nods an affirmation, still refusing to look at her.

 

“Fine. Make sure you both have your phones on you. Sansa can leave hers in the car, but you keep yours. I’ll know if you don’t,” Arya says, a pinched expression revealing her concern for Sansa is far from abated by Brienne’s demonstration. _Stupid, stupid idea_.

 

“Of course,” Brienne says, trying not to let her shame show on her face any more than it already has. Arya has every right to be afraid of her, to be afraid for Sansa.

 

“Let’s go,” Sansa interrupts, raising herself up from the couch and walking towards the front hall. Brienne glances at Arya, who makes no attempt to follow her sister, and quickly paces after Sansa.

 

Sansa takes long strides, pausing only to pick her phone up off the table by the front door. By the time Brienne catches up with her, she’s standing rigidly by the passenger side car door. Brienne fumbles while pulling out the keys and unlock the doors.

 

On the drive north, Sansa hardly speaks except to give Brienne directions. Brienne respects that. After about half an hour, the sun is clearly sinking below the horizon, and Brienne pulls over by the roadside and gets out with Sansa.

 

But without the background chatter of the radio or the reassuring hum of the car, she cannot bear the silence on the walk into the woods. There isn’t even a quiet hum of insects to reassure her that the woods are still there for her.

 

Sansa stops ahead of her, suddenly. Brienne cannot hold back the apologies stuck in her throat any longer.

 

“Sansa, please. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to see all of that. I never meant to – I mean, I told you that it feels like a violation, but I never meant to see that much,” she says, staring at Sansa’s back.

 

Sansa does not turn, but her shoulders are pulled tight like strings. Brienne’s heart begins to pound, suddenly aware that there is something terribly wrong.

 

“Sansa?” she whispers.

 

Still Sansa does not turn. But she whimpers, softly. The hairs on the back of Brienne’s neck begin to rise.

 

Sansa clutches suddenly at her side with a gasp, and Brienne starts forward, Sansa’s name on her lips. But Sansa holds up a hand to stop her, face still turned away.

 

“No, don’t. Don’t. Just let it –” Sansa’s voice is cut off by a cry of pain and a sickening crack as her knee inverts.

 

Brienne claps a hand to her mouth, feeling bile rise in her throat. All of this time, Sansa’s terror at the coming full moon – and she hadn’t considered, hadn’t wondered for a moment what the transformation would do to Sansa.

 

She can do nothing but watch now, as the transformation takes hold of her. Sansa drops to the ground, her other knee inverting and her hands twisting into the dirt. The sounds coming from her mouth horrifying not because they are inhuman, grunts and whines that her throat should be incapable of producing, but because in between them there are still human-sounding cries of pain.

 

Brienne cannot move. She stands, frozen, as Sansa goes through agonies she cannot imagine, even when they are laid out so clearly before her. It seems to take hours, Sana’s body twisting and cracking, bones breaking and reforming, skin shrinking and stretching to accommodate her new form. But within minutes, as silver moonlight begins to shine upon the forest floor, there sits a hulking shadow, panting from exertion before Brienne.

 

It stands, sniffing the air. And finally, with a low growl of warning and anticipation, it turns to face her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Body horror/injuries description: Sansa transforms into her wolf form. It involves her bones breaking and reforming painfully.


	12. In which two perfectly lovely people believe themselves to be monsters.

It stares at her for several tense moments, while Brienne prays internally that her glamour doesn’t choose this particular moment to disappear. But within seconds, the wolf lets out a low whine and sits back on its hindquarters.

 

“Th-there you are, Sansa,” Brienne says, before wondering whether she ought to address the wolf by Sansa’s name. After all, Sansa always talks about it as a separate entity …

 

The wolf cocks its head at her at the sound of her voice, and lets out another whine, tail wagging back and forth. Brienne is starting to think she should have brought a ball.

 

“You know how to play fetch?”

 

The wolf simply pants happily, looking more like a particularly playful puppy every second. Brienne finds it hard not share its enthusiasm, despite her lingering guilt over Sansa’s hypnotism.

 

Brienne reaches slowly to the ground, keeping her eyes on the wolf the entire time – but it seems as complacent as ever. She glances down and picks up the nearest stick she can find, a little long, but good enough for her purpose. When she looks up, the wolf is still watching her curiously, not a bit of danger present in its eyes.

 

_What have I got to lose?_

_… Apart from my limbs_.

 

Brienne throws off that thought and launches the stick into the woods. “Fetch!” she shouts, and the wolf shoots off into the woods like a bullet.

 

Brienne laughs as it returns, supernaturally quick. It drops the stick at her feet and pants, tongue hanging out and dopy-eyed. If she hadn’t seen Sansa’s memories of the beast attempting to tear out the throat of Sansa’s golden boy, Brienne would never believe it capable of violence, the way it looks now.

 

The sudden remembrance of Sansa’s trauma makes Brienne hesitate before throwing the stick once more. The wolf is only obeying her because she is making it, subconsciously. And Sansa only agreed to this because what was in her memories is so much worse than giving up control to Brienne for a night. Brienne needs to remember that.

 

The wolf adores playing fetch, but Brienne’s arm gets tired after an hour or two, and it’s too dark outside to see by the time she stops. She begins to walk, softly calling the wolf along, though there is hardly any need as it trails after her adoringly. She does not call it by Sansa’s name, aware that Sansa always talks about it as a separate entity. ‘Puppy’ will do.

 

Hours pass, Brienne wandering in wide circles through the forest as the wolf follows, sometimes playfully running ahead, only to wait patiently for Brienne to catch up. At one point she nervously returns to the car, to pick up a blanket for Sansa she’d forgotten to bring with her earlier from the back seat. She needn’t worry, however, as the wolf shows no interest in running off, and she returns to the forest as quickly as she left.

 

Her feet crunch over sticks and leaves she cannot see, and above, the full moon shines brightly on the path. She’s always been able to see a little better than the average human in the dark, and the forest is lit up in silver to her eyes.

 

Eventually, though, her feet tire of walking in circles around the empty forest – the insects and small critters usually present at night have vacated the vicinity now that a wolf walks amongst them. Brienne sets herself down by a sturdy oak, nestling herself in the base roots. The wolf trots up to her, not sleepy at all, simply watching.

 

Brienne pats her leg. “Here, girl,” she calls.

 

The wolf steps forward, and nuzzles its head down on top of Brienne’s lap. Brienne settles a hand in its fur and chuckles. “Not quite what I meant, puppy,” she says, amused.

 

But the wolf simply snuggles up to her happily, and Brienne begins to stroke its fur. There is no danger tonight, no one to hear its soft snuffles. Brienne’s breath makes small puffs of mist in the cold air, and wanting something to do, she begins to talk.

 

“I never meant to see anything you didn’t want me to, you know,” she whispers, softly, so she can hardly hear herself. “I never wanted to invade your mind like that. But I … I did. I accept that. I know you probably won’t want to see me again after this, unless it’s on a full moon.”

 

The wolf does not answer, still lying placidly in her lap. Brienne bites her lip, wishing she could speak the words to Sansa instead.

 

“But you should know that it’s not your fault. Any of it. The wolf – I know why you’re scared of it, believe me. I was scared too, the first time I saw it. But it was only trying to protect you. To keep you safe from people like the boy in your memories. It could see what you couldn’t. I know, because I can see things that others can’t, when I slip up and hypnotise people. There are so many cruel people in the world.”

 

Brienne sighs, her hand continuing to run through the wolf’s fur.

 

“Which is a lesson I should have learnt sooner in life, I suppose. But that’s a whole other can of worms. The point is – well, I guess the point is that there’s a lot of good people too. When you’ve seen as many minds as I have, you learn that everyone has terrible thoughts, cruel impulses. The difference is whether you act on them or not. And of course it’s not your fault if you _have_ no choice about acting on them, either. Like you. You never had the choice. Honestly, Sansa, having seen your mind, I can safely say you are probably the kindest, sweetest person I’ve ever met. I really …” Brienne stops, hesitant to speak the words in front of the wolf, though there’s no chance Sansa will remember them in the morning. She thinks them instead, silent.

 

_I really …. love your kindness. Your sweetness is the best part of you. You’re not cruel, not monstrous. You’re good. I love that about you. I love you_.

 

She doesn’t mean to think the last part.

 

She resolves to spend the rest of the night meditating, practicing her mindfulness until grey dawn signals Sansa’s return.

 

~

 

When Sansa comes to, there’s a hand in her hair.

 

It strokes soft patterns with no rhyme or reason, running along the length of her hair. There’s a warm, soft thing under Sansa’s head, but the rest of her body feels sore, and irritated by scratchy leaves and twigs. She’s naked, but there’s a soft blanket covering her, though it doesn’t do much to protect her from the bitter cold. Just as it registers consciously how cold it is, she shivers violently. The hand in her hair stops, and she wants to cry out for it to come back.

 

“Sansa? Are you awake?” The voice belongs to Brienne. The events of the previous night come flooding back.

 

The last thing Sansa remembers is walking into the forest with Brienne, and then the familiar pain ...

 

_It worked_.

 

“I am now,” she replies softly, opening her eyes. Brienne’s legs are stretched out before her, and she realises she’s been lying on Brienne’s lap the whole time. Hastily, she sits up, gathering the blanket around her like a winter cloak. She misses the warmth of Brienne more than she can say, and another shiver runs over her skin.

 

Brienne must notice, because she frowns a little, tiny worry lines appearing in between her eyebrows. Sansa’s heart aches at the sight.

 

“Let’s get back to the car. You must be freezing,” Brienne murmurs, standing and offering her a hand up. Sansa accepts it gratefully.

 

The misty dawn is grey, golden sunlight only barely managing to penetrate the trees here and there. Sansa winces stepping over the twigs and stumbles twice before Brienne turns back to her with a huff. Sansa shrinks back instinctively, but the expression on Brienne’s face isn’t angry.

 

“Sorry. This is my fault – I should have thought to bring shoes. I almost forgot the blanket, I’m so stupid,” Brienne says, looking embarrassed.

 

“No, no,” Sansa says, with a weak smile. “It’s not your fault. I should have thought – If I hadn’t stormed off like that …” She trails off, unsure of how to convey how she feels. She resumes walking, Brienne at her side now.

 

“You had every right to,” Brienne says, looking ashamed. “I invaded your mind. I saw things you never wanted me to.”

 

Sansa glances up at her, startled. _She thinks I’m angry with_ her.

 

“Oh, Brienne, that’s not – I’ve done everything all wrong. I am so sorry,” she says.

 

Brienne shakes her head. “No, this is my fault, please don’t blame yourself.”

 

“Brienne! I’m not the one who –” Sansa breaks off with a cry of pain, having stepped on a particularly sharp stone.

 

“Sansa! Are you all right?” Brienne’s expression is distressed when Sansa looks up, having discovered her foot is bleeding.

 

“Cut my foot,” she says, with a grimace.

 

For a moment, Brienne looks unsure. Then, without another word, she scoops Sansa up in a bridal carry. Sansa shrieks, clinging on to Brienne and trying to ensure her blanket hasn’t slipped, but Brienne has her completely covered.

 

“Brienne! What are you doing?!”

 

“I’m not letting you walk back on that foot. It’s the least I can do,” Brienne says, hardly even sounding strained by Sansa’s weight. Sansa knows Brienne is strong, but she’s fairly certain that Brienne’s magic blood is showing itself here, to make carrying Sansa seem so effortless – Sansa is not slim.

 

“The least you can do! You haven’t – no, all right,” Sansa says, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to collect her thoughts. “We’re talking about this. When we get to the car. All right?”

 

“Of course,” Brienne says, sounding sad. Sansa wants to shake her, to make her see that Brienne is not the one at fault here. But instead, she simply sighs and rests her head against Brienne’s shoulder as they make their way back to the road.

 

The walk only takes a few minutes, but it feels much longer to Sansa. Brienne never falters, never sounds anything more than slightly exerted. Sansa can hear her heart beating, if she concentrates where her left ear rests against Brienne’s shoulder. It sounds strong, steady. The warmth of Brienne’s arms and chest lulls her into something like peace, her tense muscles relaxing as the mist is slowly but surely burned away by the sun.

 

Soon – almost too soon, if Sansa really feels like being honest with herself – they reach the car, sitting by the roadside and covered in frost. Brienne sets her down gently by the passenger side door, and Sansa wobbles before finding her balance. Brienne fishes her keys out of her pocket and unlocks the doors quickly, the two of them eager get inside and put the heater on full blast.

 

Inside, the silence is deafening, despite the quiet rumble of the engine and the slowly warming air blasting out of the vents. Sansa musters her courage, taking a deep breath, before finally looking over at Brienne. Brienne, however, is staring at her hands, twisting in her lap. Without thinking, without letting herself feel selfish for it, Sansa reaches over and clasps Brienne’s hands in her own. But Brienne does not look up, eyes cast downwards as ever around other people.

 

“Brienne. I’m not angry with you,” Sansa whispers.

 

“You should be,” Brienne says, turning her head away.

 

“I’m angry with myself, Brienne, how can you not see that?”

 

That gets Brienne’s attention. Her head swivels back, though she’s still careful not to meet Sansa’s eyes. “What – _how_?”

 

Sansa shifts in her seat, uncomfortable. “You pulled out memories I didn’t know I had. The wolf … the wolf is a separate part of our consciousness. All we have are fleeting impressions – or at least, the others do. I don’t have anything. Ever. When the wolf … when Joffrey was attacked, all I knew was what happened the next day, waking up alone in the middle of nowhere, and coming back to my father telling me my wolf had nearly killed my boyfriend. I was so afraid. It was like blacking out and coming to only to realise you’ve … well, that you’ve attacked someone.”

 

“But it wasn’t your fault,” Brienne protests, turning her hand over so she can squeeze Sansa’s back.

 

Sansa snorts. “What does it matter? I’m a monster, either way. And now I know for sure. You saw those memories. And after all this time, I have too.”

 

“That overgrown puppy following me around playing fetch last night didn’t seem like a monster to me,” Brienne says, raising her eyebrows.

 

“… We played _fetch_?” Sansa says, incredulously.

 

“Yes. For nearly two hours,” Brienne chuckles.

 

Sansa is speechless for a moment, before remembering the point she was trying to make. “Well, be that as it may … I understand if you don’t want to be around me anymore. Now that you know, I mean. And don’t worry about the full moon,” Sansa hurries to add, as Brienne’s head jerks up, “I’ll figure it out. I have done for several years now.”

 

“ _No_.” Brienne’s voice could not sound more flat.

 

“What?” Sansa blinks, uncertain. _Surely this is what she wants? To be rid of me_?

 

“Sansa Stark, I am not going to let you deal with this alone. It is _my_ fault that you remembered what happened – I should have been more careful, and don’t argue, because it’s true. You’ve been dealing with this alone for what, five, six years? What kind of – of friend would I be if I abandoned you to however many more just because you happened to accidentally attack some teenage douchebag who was planning on hurting you anyway? I’m not going _anywhere_ ,” Brienne says, sounding determined and more than a little annoyed.

 

It’s … oddly attractive, truth be told.

 

Brienne seems to finally take in everything she just said, though, because she looks down once more, turning red. “I mean – unless you want me to go. I understand if you do. I made a terrible mistake digging around in your memories, and you … you paid the price.”

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Sansa says softly. It’s all she can think of. “Brienne – it was an accident. If you need forgiveness, you have it. No one’s ever … no one’s ever made me feel as safe as you do.  No one’s ever tried.”

 

Brienne’s hands are trembling, just slightly, in Sansa’s. Sansa leans over the seat, the blanket slipping off her shoulder a little, trying to gauge Brienne’s expression, to make sure she understands that Sansa wants her around. Wants _her_ , full stop.

 

“Brienne, say something,” she says, her voice hushed in the glowing golden dawn that is beginning to peep in through the windows.

 

Brienne’s voice, when it comes, sounds choked. “If you need me – if you still want me around … I’ll be there.”

 

“I do,” Sansa says, with a smile. “Always.”

 

“Okay,” Brienne says, cheeks flushed. She clears her throat. “We’d better get going. Your sister will kill me if you’re not back soon.”

 

“Good point,” Sansa laughs, reaching into the glove compartment for her phone so she can send out a mass text to her family and let them know she’s safe. “Home, James,” she says, in a prim voice. Brienne laughs, and the sound is brighter than the rising sun behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC NOW HAS AN END-DATE IN SIGHT. ALL YOU READERS ARE WONDERFUL, SAINTLY PEOPLE. THANK YOU.


	13. In which apologies, discussions, and miscommunications are had.

Over the next few months, Brienne plays babysitter to the wolf several more times. Every time is as much the same as the first – the snarling wolf almost immediately placated by Brienne’s presence and happy to follow her around wherever she goes. In the mornings, Brienne provides Sansa with a blanket and shoes before she changes, back at the car, and they drive home. Arya even comes to greet Brienne warmly when she visits, and pops down once or twice with Sansa to the gym.

 

Jaime continues to tease her, of course. He still doesn’t even know Sansa’s name, just calling her wolf-girl, or Brienne’s girlfriend. The second choice gets a punch in the arm. Brienne doesn’t really know why she’s so hesitant to let him meet her – he’s her best friend. But he’s also more than a little rough around the edges, and she doesn’t want to scare Sansa off.

 

One day he wheedles her name out of Brienne, though, while they’re packing away equipment and wiping it down at the end of the day.

 

His face stills as she says it to him for the first time.

 

“Sansa?” he repeats, sounding choked.

 

Brienne hesitates, sensing that there’s something wrong. “Yes. Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

 

Jaime makes a weird noise that Brienne can only describe as ‘hysterical,’ before collapsing onto the nearest bench.

 

“Okay, no. You’re going to have to explain that to me. What on earth do you know about Sansa?” Brienne says, anxiously.

 

“She – her family – they know my … family.”

 

Brienne sits with a thump on the bench next to Jaime.

 

“Oh,” she says, faintly.

 

She knows enough about Jaime’s past to know that he’s come a long way to get away from the Lannisters. Away from Cersei and his father, especially.

 

“Yes,” he says, equally as faint. He swallows before continuing. “She dated my – my – she dated Cersei’s son. Joffrey. For a while.”

 

The pieces click into place in Brienne’s mind with sudden, horrifying clarity.

 

“Oh, spirits above,” she whispers. “Oh Jaime. I’m so sorry. She told me, but I didn’t know – I didn’t know it was him, that he was a Lannister.”

 

Jaime nods, dumbly, clumsily reaching out with his stump to thump her on the back as a sign of his forgiveness.

 

She doesn’t know what to say. They’ve never really spoken about his … children. Cersei, he’s spoken about, with venom in his voice, and regret … but he’d only mentioned that her children were his just the once, right in the middle of a conversation, before dropping it and never speaking of it again.

 

“Are you … okay?” Brienne asks, wincing at herself.

 

“You know, the worst thing about being with Cersei is that they never felt like my kids. I don’t feel like their father,” he says, abruptly. “As far as the world knows their dear old father is that idiot Robert. But better him than me. I’d’ve made a terrible dad.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says, reaching a hand around his shoulders. They don’t normally do this, the comfort thing. They’re not that kind of friendship. But when a guy tells you the children resulting from his own repeated acts of incest don’t feel like his, what can you do?

 

“Yeah, well.” He slumps into her a bit, which from him is probably the equivalent of throwing himself into her arms.

 

“Do you want – do you want to tell her? Just because,” she hurries on, when he blanches, “She told me that her wolf attacked Joffrey and it’s probably the reason she’s having trouble with it now and it might help both of you if you talked about him?”

 

Jaime blinks, frowning at her. “I’ll consider it,” he says finally, sounding doubtful.

 

Brienne thumps his back again, and apologises quickly when he winces in response.

 

But it’s only a few days later that he approaches her with a determined look on his face after hours once more.

 

“I’ll talk to her. But I’m not telling her everything. No one needs to know. I’m his uncle, as far as she’s concerned. I’d like to keep it that way.”

 

Brienne nods, slowly. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

 

~

 

The next time Sansa comes in to the gym – having now developed a taste for the rush of endorphins in their own right – Jaime finds his way over at the end of the session, when Sansa is breathing heavily, flushed and joyful. He could not look more polarly opposite, entirely pale and faint. Brienne decides the introductions should happen in private, so she jerks her head towards the main office at him, before Sansa can catch sight of him. He quickly swerves at the last second towards it, luckily, since Sansa turns around to face Brienne at that moment, a towel wrapped around the back of her neck.

 

“All right. I think I’m done for the day,” she says cheerfully.

 

Brienne grins. “Fair enough. Hey, listen, I was wondering – could I introduce you to someone?”

 

Sansa blinks. “Oh yeah? Who?”

 

“A mate. I’ve – I’ve actually told him all about you,” Brienne says, stumbling over the words a little in embarrassment.

 

“Oh! Oh, well in that case …”

 

Brienne might be imagining it, but she thinks she can detect a little flush of pink in Sansa’s cheeks. But it’s probably just the exercise.

 

She takes Sansa towards the office, but as she ushers her in, Sansa stops in the doorway.

 

“Mr. La- Lannister,” she stutters.

 

“Ah, yeah. Hello Sansa,” Jaime says, leaning against the desk and grimacing in apology for himself.

 

“It’s okay – he just wanted to talk,” Brienne says quickly.

 

Sansa stares at him, before swallowing and stepping forward. Brienne closes the door.

 

“Ah, so. First off – Joffrey’s an absolute prick, and you shouldn’t feel bad for what you did to him,” Jaime says, bluntly cutting to the point. He must be nervous.

 

Sansa’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open – but she cannot seem to speak.

 

“And secondly, I’m … very sorry for my family’s behaviour towards you. They had no right. It wasn’t your fault. Lannisters only know how to cast blame and self-destruct, unfortunately. Nothing to do with you.”

 

“I -  Thank you?” Sansa says, sounding faint.

 

Jaime clears his throat. “Right. Yes. Well, I just wanted to get that out there, in the open. You’re Brienne’s … friend. So that’s that.”

 

“Okay,” Sansa whispers.

 

“I’ll – I’ll go now,” Jaime says hurriedly, before existing the office with all the speed of a startled cat that has convinced itself the harmless cucumber sitting beside it is a snake.

 

“That went … well?” Brienne says, uncertainly.

 

Sansa’s face reveals very little. Finally, she turns it towards Brienne, and nods, slowly.

 

“I think – I think it did. I never thought anyone from Joffrey’s family would ever forgive me for what happened … Let alone … I mean, Joffrey can’t really have deserved what happened, can he?”

 

“I don’t know,” Brienne admits. “But Jaime’s not one to pull punches. Anyway, there’s a reason he doesn’t associate with his family anymore. I think he’s right.”

 

Sansa smiles a little, something new inside her eyes. “I suppose so.”

 

~

 

A few weeks after the “Jaime Incident”, Sansa invites Brienne to an afternoon tea, and as soon as she opens the door, Brienne can see the determined look on her face means business. It makes her heart flutter, just a little. There’s something to be said for when a girl as demure as Sansa comes out of her shell like that.

 

“I take it this is more than just tea, then?” she says, by way of greeting.

 

Sansa smiles. “How did you know?”

 

“Something about the look in your eyes,” Brienne chuckles.

 

“All right, you’ve caught me,” Sansa says, stepping aside to let Brienne in. “I just – I had a thought. Something I wanted to try. If you’re okay with it?”

 

“Well, I mean – what is it?”

 

“Come into the woods,” Sansa says, grabbing Brienne’s hand, “and I’ll tell you.”

 

The next thing Brienne knows, she’s being dragged along by Sansa through the house and out into the yard behind, heading into the woods and laughing all the while at Sansa’s sudden enthusiasm. Finally, they come to a halt in a small clearing much like the one they’d woken up in that first night, all those months ago.

 

“What’s this?” Brienne asks, staring up at the golden sunlight filtering through the leaves. She’s trying to distract herself from the way Sansa’s hand hasn’t left her own.

 

“It’s where my siblings go, when they … When they transform. Not just during the full moon. When they run just because they can.”

 

“Oh,” Brienne says, eyes widening as she turns her gaze on Sansa. “So – you were thinking –”

 

“Only if you want to!” Sansa hastens to add. “I mean – I would understand if you didn’t. It’s just, with talking to Jaime and how peaceful the last few transformations have been with you … I thought maybe I could try transforming outside the full moon, like I’m meant to. Like … the next step in recovery, or something.”

 

Brienne’s heart feels full, with more than she can name. She’s proud of Sansa for coming so far. She’s honoured by her trust – more than honoured, she’s … touched. She squeezes Sansa’s hand.

 

“Of course,” she says, warmly. “Whatever you need.”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa says, sincere gratitude evident in her voice. She squeezes Brienne’s hand back, before letting go and taking a few steps back. Brienne tries not to miss it.

 

“Okay,” Sansa says, taking a deep breath. “Right.” She slips out of her sundress, blushing, and Brienne quickly focuses in on the top of Sansa’s head, not daring look below.

 

For a moment, she just stands there, and Brienne doesn’t know what to think. But then – there’s a change. The violent transformation of the full moon is gone, here. The sunlight in Sansa’s hair melts into golden reflections against her fur, and where once there stood a human girl, there now stands a wolf, as smoothly and suddenly as if Sansa had never been there at all.

 

“Oh, wow,” Brienne breathes, unable to help herself.

 

She hadn’t known it could be like that. So gentle – so peaceful.

 

And the thing is, Sansa’s wolf isn’t growling, doesn’t have its hackles raised. It sniffs the air curiously and pads towards Brienne with its tail sweeping gently back and forth. Brienne isn’t even looking it in the eye – it simply _isn’t scared anymore_. She is in no danger and can see clearly, for the first time, how the wolf _is_ Sansa, is a part of her very soul.

 

It makes something inside Brienne break as she realises that Sansa clearly doesn’t need her anymore.

 

Sansa is at peace with herself, that part of her which is wolf. Brienne won’t be needed to hypnotise her anymore – Sansa can run with her pack now, her family. That’s who she needs. Not a girl with a pathetic crush and nothing to offer her.

 

She’s so absorbed by her thoughts she almost doesn’t notice Sansa changing back. Within moments, Sansa’s scrambled back into her dress, Brienne’s eyes carefully trained elsewhere, before she rounds on Brienne and grabs both her hands, grinning.

 

“I did it! Oh my spirits above, I did it!”

 

Her glee is catching, and Brienne smiles, despite herself.

 

“Yes, you did. I didn’t even have to hypnotise you. That’ll be a relief next full moon!”

 

Sansa lets out a squeal. “Yes! I can’t believe it!”

 

“It’ll have to be our last, then, I suppose,” Brienne says, forcing the words out.

 

Sansa’s smile dims. “But – why? Sorry, what?”

 

“Well,” Brienne says, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “You don’t really need me anymore, you know. You’ve got it under control now, right? Maybe – maybe this should be the last time.”

 

“Oh,” Sansa replies. She’s not smiling at all now.

 

Brienne tries to put a positive spin on it.

 

“Look, we both knew this was temporary, just … until you could control it better. You’ve got your own pack, I don’t want to interfere with that.”

 

“Right. Of course.”

 

“Should we – um, do you want to go back in?” Brienne says, feeling as if she’s missing something important. It’s hard to think about what, though, over her own heartbreak.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Sansa says. She turns away quickly, striding through the trees and back towards the house. Brienne hurries after her, trying not to think about how hard it’s going to be to back off, and leave Sansa to be the wolf she was always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some stuff is not quiiiiiite congruous with the rest of the story rn, but I don't have time to edit the earlier chapters just yet! I'm so sorry.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	14. In which all is mended.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter :O

The next full moon comes quickly, yet the days seem to drag by at the same time. Brienne knows why. The time is coming to say goodbye to Sansa and end their acquaintance, now that Sansa doesn’t need her, yet – at the same time, the days that she doesn’t see Sansa pass like sticky molasses, sweet with longing and slow.

 

Finally the day of the full moon arrives, Sansa having not come to the gym once in all the time since their last meeting. Brienne almost wants to call the whole thing off, but figures she owes Sansa this last test, just to make sure.

 

Thus she finds herself driving in the late afternoon, with no small amount of trepidation, up towards the Stark manor. The late afternoon sun makes her squint a little, even through her sunglasses, and she hopes it won’t cause her to hypnotise anyone she comes across due to the lightening of her eyes. That’d be just her luck.

 

Stepping out of the car, she nervously makes her way towards the front door and knocks, dread and excitement warring inside her at the thought of seeing Sansa. She hasn’t got much time to worry, though, because the door opens within seconds of her knocking, to reveal Sansa, looking at her with a carefully neutral expression.

 

“Hello, Brienne,” she says, quietly.

 

“Hi,” Brienne responds, weakly. “Um, shall we get going, then?”

 

“Sure.”

 

The walk towards the car, and the subsequent drive into the forest, are silent. Brienne can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound desperate, and it only confirms what she already knows to be true – Sansa is glad to be rid of her help. Sansa wants to be independent, in this.

 

They pull up by the side of the road as the evening sun begins to set.

 

“We should get out here,” Brienne says, and Sansa nods.

 

They walk into the forest, Brienne following Sansa – who seems to be following her nose, if the way she pauses occasionally to lift her head into the air is any indication. She carries a dressing gown in her arms, intended for the following morning, should her clothes become unsalvageable, as they can when the transformation surprises her. The night closes in slowly around them, then all at once, without noticing it happening, Brienne realises it is dark.

 

Sansa stops in the centre of a tiny clearing, not much room for more than the two of them. There’s a pause, a moment where Brienne holds her breath, waiting for the change. But Sansa turns, unexpectedly.

 

“Brienne –”

 

She doesn’t have the chance to say anything more, because at that moment, moonlight breaks through the clouds and into the clearing, and whatever Sansa was going to say is cut off by a gasp of pain.

 

“Sansa,” Brienne starts, before realising the futility of trying to speak to her in this state.

 

The transformation is equally as horrifying as every other time, Sansa’s body twisting and stretching inhumanly, grotesquely. Brienne fights the urge to look away, knowing she’ll need to capture Sansa’s gaze as soon as possible.

 

With one final agonising howl, Sansa – or what is left of her – crouches down onto her haunches, panting heavily. The wolf sniffs the air, curious, and turns its head towards Brienne – yet any danger in its eyes dies upon meeting Brienne’s steady gaze.

 

“There you are,” Brienne whispers. “There you are.”

Brienne sits down against a tree, beckoning the wolf closer. It eagerly snuggled up to her, whining and baring its belly to be scratched. Brienne smiles, despite herself, familiar by now with Sansa’s wolf’s habits. They’ll be all right until morning, and that’s all that matters.

 

The night passes. Brienne stays quiet, not wanting to risk Sansa remembering the things she says. She’s gotten better at that over the past few months, quoting silly things Brienne’s said to the wolf the next morning, laughing at her wolf’s responses with something like embarrassment and hope, all at once.

 

Brienne’s going to miss their post-full moon conversations.

 

She shakes off the thought of it, and instead tries to meditate, clearing her mind of debris.

 

It works too well, because when she wakes, it’s daylight.

 

~

 

Sansa’s cold and naked, twigs prickling at her skin, but all the sensations are familiar to her by now. Including the warmth at her back, the one thing that keeps her from moving as soon as she wakes.

 

She can’t move. Can’t end it.

 

She’d thought that Brienne wanted to help her, but the clear refusal to go on any longer now that Sansa can control her wolf to some small degree cannot be mistaken. It confuses her, whenever she allows herself to dwell on it – surely all those months of friendship weren’t for nothing, surely Brienne wanted … If not want Sansa wants, then a friendship, at least.

 

But no, she didn’t. Or she wouldn’t have refused to stay.

 

So Sansa doesn’t move, despite the stick poking into her side, and the cool air giving rise to goosebumps on her skin. The minutes pass, and the only sound to disturb the forest is the sound of their breathing.

 

But eventually Brienne shifts, just a little, and Sansa realises she can’t force Brienne to hold her like this, her mind clearing more and more by the second as she wakes. She sits up, shivering, and looks around for the dressing gown she brought along last night. It’s tossed somewhere over a branch – she must have thrown it aside when the transformation surprised her.

 

She tries to be quiet while tiptoeing over the grass and twigs, but must make some noise anyway, because Brienne begins to make sleepy sounds, waking up. Shrugging on the dressing gown as quickly as she’s able, Sansa turns towards Brienne, still lying on the ground, rolling onto her back and rubbing her eyes.

 

She squints up at Sansa.

 

“Hey,” she says, hoarsely.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Sansa does her best to put on a brave face, but it’s difficult, with Brienne lying so beautifully in the morning sunlight.

 

Brienne sits up, rolling out her shoulders and groaning with the stretch. Sansa averts her eyes, not wanting to reveal in her face how attractive she finds the action, heat rushing to her cheeks.

 

“Well,” Brienne sighs, suddenly. “That’s … that’s it, then.”

 

Sansa swallows, and wills herself to be brave, to say what she wanted to say the previous night.

 

“If … If you want it to be.”

 

Brienne looks up at her, startled, and rises to her feet slowly. She doesn’t come any closer, standing where she is, a considering look on her face.

 

“I thought – don’t you want to be free of it all?”

 

“I do,” Sansa admits, pulling the dressing gown even more tightly around herself, hugging her arms to her chest. “I wanted … Everything that you’ve given me. The chance to be in control of this thing, rather than letting it control me.”

 

“But you have that now,” Brienne says, cautiously.

 

Sansa bites her lip.

 

“Yes, but … I don’t … I don’t want to give up on our friendship unless it’s what you want. Because I thought – I assumed – over the last few months, that we’d become friends, I suppose. Maybe I was wrong, I don’t know, I just …” She shakes her head, feeling foolish. “I should have realised you were just doing me a favour. I’m sorry.”

 

“Doing you a favour?” Brienne sounds shocked. She steps closer, and Sansa fights the urge to run away. “Sansa, I … Maybe it started out that way, but I’ve always thought of you – I mean, we have been friends, haven’t we?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa whispers, hardly daring to hope.

 

“Then – we can keep being friends, right?”

 

“Of course,” Sansa chokes out, embarrassed to find that there are tears in her eyes.

 

“Good,” Brienne says, a tiny smile appearing on her face.

 

For a moment there’s silence as they smile at one another, before Sansa’s stomach lurches with another truth.

 

“I mean –” Sansa begins, before she can stop herself.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, it’s just … I was thinking …” She stutters, struggling to get the words out.

 

Brienne steps even closer, within arm distance now. Her expression is hesitant, and Sansa directs her gaze to the forest floor, unable to look her in the eye.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I do … want to be friends, but I’ve been feeling, lately, like maybe …”

 

A hand touches her chin, guiding her face upwards, and she follows it. All the fear, the terror at her wolf’s ferocity, the unbearable prospect of loneliness, a life without Brienne in it, dissipates like smoke beneath Brienne’s touch. Yet Brienne’s face remains cautious, not expectant.

 

Sansa loves her for it – for her unexpected tenderness.

 

“I want to be more than friends,” Sansa confesses, finally.

 

And the light in Brienne’s eyes is almost blinding, without once causing that hypnotic spell to fall over Sansa again. Her smile is no less dazzling, and Sansa finds herself leaning in.

 

An inch away from her lips, Brienne whispers one final thing.

 

“Me too,” she says, simply.

 

And Sansa closes the final gap between them, kissing her with no more hesitation, no more fear – only love, and the unspoken understanding it has brought them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah! It's finally done!
> 
> Real talk, guys, when I began this fic it was the longest thing I'd ever written and I doubted it would ever be finished. The good news is ... I've grown a lot as a writer since then, and finished! The bad news is ... I want to turn this into an original novel eventually, meaning it can't stay up forever! I'll warn when I take it down, but consider this the pre-warning. I love this 'verse and I've got plans to flesh it out with OCs and more!
> 
> Thank you so much for being so patient and reading. I love you all.
> 
> [Cr1tikal voice] Remember to kudos the fic, comment on the fic, and subscribe if you wanna see fics similar to this one. See ya.

**Author's Note:**

> [My twitter](https://twitter.com/romantragedian). (Check out the pinned tweet!)


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